


Welcome to Night Vale Writings (Drabbles)

by DarthSuki



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-10-06 12:47:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 22,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: This is a compilation of drabbles for the WTNV fandom originally from the tumblr blogWTNVWritings.The majority of these are reader-centric content and will be labeled according to included characters, topic and rating.





	1. Rules / FAQ

 

### How can I put in a request?

If you want to send in a request, please either send it in via an ask on the WTNV Wrtings tumblr blog, or comment your request on the first two chapters of this work (FAQ / Masterlist).

 

### What kinds of requests do you take?

I am very open-minded with requests, and are more than willing to do:

  * NSFW and SFW
  * Smut, fluff, and angst
  * Kinks and fetishes of all sorts!



**I will not write scat, gore, vore, or rape outside of a scene/fantasy format.**

In addition to the above, I’d like to specify that I have no judgement on kink, ship or whatnot, though please bare with me if I decided to take on a kink I’m not personally into or are familiar with–I may ask for clarification if needed!

 

### What characters can/can’t you write for?

In terms of personality, I will write for nearly every character of the podcast.

In terms of content, I will  _not_  write anything containing sexual activity with characters who are underage (if they are written, they will be explicitly aged-up).

 

### How long does it take to fill my request?

Since these requests are for fun,  **the time it takes for me to complete a specific one can vary**. I go in and out of fandoms and have various responsibilities to deal with in my full-time job, so there may be times where I won’t have the motivation or inspiration to write much–but I’m usually more than happy to answer general asks and talk about all sorts of things!


	2. Masterlist

### About the Masterlist

This masterlist is to organize all of the content listed in this work based on character included in each headcanon. If you don't see a character in the list below that belongs to the fandom for this work, it's likely due to the fact that I either haven't gotten a request for them or simply haven't gotten to requests for them yet! Please let me know if there are any issues with this list.

* * *

Please excuse the mess, this is still under construction! 

### Cecil Palmer

 

###  Carlos (The Scientist)

 

### Kevin

 


	3. Cecil: Singin' on the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** cutest idea just hit me. what if reader liked to sing while they work? they start with humming but soon they're full on singing. and they're good too. maybe one day they have headphones in while sorting thru some paperwork in the booth and don't hear an intern come in. intern loves their voice and runs to get the other interns. finally one gets cecil and they're all just in the doorway listening. cecil has stars in his eyes and reaches for the 'on air' switch. then we're singing for nightvale ;)

It doesn’t quite register at first, the thing, when you hear the broadcast.

It’s something pretty silly, since you’re already listening to Cecil ramble on about the goings-on of the town in a more casual setting than the radio studio a lot of the time, but it’s so nice to have a piece of him when he was busy or off doing his own thing. 

To hear him speak so gently, so sweetly, hear him tell jokes and giggle at them himself. So yes, while you were a very close and important piece in the Night Vale Community Radio scene, you still listened to the broadcasts quite frequently–as much as you could, in fact, since it paired well with a tedious hobby or household chore.

Cecil is speaking excitedly into your headphones about something, you lost track where the news story stopped and his own opinions and perspective began, and simply let his sweet voice try to numb the tedious pain of folding your laundry.

You’re in the middle of hanging up a shirt when something hits you. No, it’s not a blow dart containing sedatives by the Sheriff’s Secret Police to knock you out because you’ve heard unknowable secrets–that was two weeks ago. Instead it’s a noise, a realization that hits you instead. 

You take a pause and narrow your eyes, staring at nothing in particular as you try to figure out what all the background shifting noise is in Cecil’s recorded broadcast. Was he moving? Was he….carrying the microphone? It was hard to tell, really, especially since he tended not to touch or mess with it very much while recording (he was so fussy about it being positioned just right).

The noise continues for several seconds longer, growing in intensity until, suddenly–

It’s you.

The audio quality isn’t perfect, a little echo caught in the background but…the new voice is you? Singing?

You listen for several seconds, one hand on your ear and your mind blank, not quite sure how to register exactly what you’re hearing. A pop song or, at least what Night Vale calls pop songs. You’re singing without filter, without a muffle on your words or voice or volume.

And then in but a blink, it all comes back to you.

You were singing that very song just that afternoon. 

Within barely a breath and a toss of the shirt you had in your hands, you had Cecil’s number selected and your phone ringing him.

He picked up by the third.

“You recorded me while I was singing?” You are quick to ask, not sure if you should feel embarrassed or confused or even a little of both.

“Yup!” says Cecil, sounding cheery and far too proud of himself.

“WHY?”

“Because you sounded beautiful,” the man says in all but a simple answer, finally letting a thin strand of sheepishness creep into his words. “You sounded so boundless and free, you could have fooled me for being a Siren yourself with the small crowd at the door of the archives!”

“Oh. My. God.” Your heart flutters at his words, but your mind can only feebly try to force thoughts past the blockage. Everyone heard you sing. Everyone in Night Vale heard you sing.

“But everyone loved you!” Cecil says quickly, as if worried that he had made a grave error in judgement. “I swear you sounded perfect! Station management themselves were even calmed, and they never even listen to the broadcast.”

You sit there for a moment, still hearing your own voice in the ear that still had a headphone, the powerful notes and complete lack of shame in your voice as you sang so unknowing of the crowd that was hearing you at that moment.

You hang up on Cecil with a quick ‘Igottagobye’ because you can feel the fire on your cheeks and don’t want it crawling into your voice; you already have to deal with enough with the feelings lingering in your chest towards your boss, this is definitely not what you needed to make them any better.

So you sit there for a few moments, face in your hands, cell phone by your leg and one earbud still in your ear. 

But then there is a sudden tap at your window. Another tap, then a third, then a rapid tapping until you finally draw your face up and look towards the source of the noise. With a dull feeling of obligation you move to the window and open it, not missing a beat or shifting expression from muted embarrassment as a man sat there, in the branch of the tree next to your apartment window. 

Sheriff’s Secret Police. It was obvious in his outfit, dark and mysterious–but it was also the tree a lot of them liked to perch on since it had a great view of several buildings.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly, carefully showing his empty hands as if to emphasize he had no sedative darts or blowgun. “I just wanted to let you know that Cecil was right–you did sound really lovely.”

Though a fire of genuine compliment ran over your face, you couldn’t help but shut the window and let out a disgruntled, but loving noise of aggravation.

Oh, Cecil. That silly, wonderful, stupid dork.


	4. Kevin: Looking Fancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** could I request a little bit of an odd idea, Kevin's assistant accidentally gets blood on them while covering some story and when they get back to the station Kevin because flattered/flustered (as much as Kevin can be) because he thinks they were accessorizing for him specifically, since y'know,,,his dead squirrel/blood redecorating

Kevin can barely contain himself when his eyes slide over you. He can’t hide his reaction either, so he merely disguises it as something else. A bright, faux joy overcomes his expression and eyes to the point that he almost looks outright  _manic_  with delight. He approaches you quickly, so much that he sends your heart rate through the roof and then suddenly he’s pressing you back against the wall and he’s towering over you and–

You take a breath, then let it out, the man still in front of you, still caging you in with either palm of his pressed against the wall on either side of your head.

“Oh my,” the man said, sickly-sweet in tone. “I only told you to take notes on the current outbreak, but here you come back to me all… _fancied_  up like this.”

It takes a moment for the words to click and make sense in your mind. Fancy? There’s absolutely nothing fancy about you right now, you were literally wading through pools of blood trying to make sense of the new, fabricated pandemic going around and–

Oh.

_Oh._

It’s the blood. It’s on your pants, your shirt, your hands. You didn’t have the time to wash up before getting back to the studio, no time to get rid of the metallic sting wafting in the air and oh how Kevin’s eyes watch you. How his wide, dark, lifeless eyes carefully observe your form, your movement; he looks like a predator in this moment, hungry and needing for more than just an update to the news story.

“ _Dearest_ ,” Kevin purrs, his voice so heavy and looking discernibly flustered despite the faint stains of red already on his cheeks. “Did you know what it would make me feel, seeing you so…pretty like this? Naughty thing, of course you did! Did you do this to get some… _attention_?”

You feel one of his legs slowly move forward, pressing between your knees, forcing your legs apart just a little bit.

The words of a response, perhaps even a rejection of his assumption, was is stuck in your throat.

And Kevin  _smiles_  so wide, so excitedly wide that it would have terrified you if you didn’t know what that look meant.

“I think we should use up some of our…allotted personal minutes,” the man says, the euphemism clear as crystal by the way he’s looking at you. “Because I am moments away from doing some very  _unproductive_  things to your clothes and body right now, dearest.”


	5. Kevin: A little comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request** : kneeling in the muck and viscera at the feet of kevins recording chair laying your head on his lap as he pets your head trailing bloody fingers through your hair

You’ve long-since gotten used to the blood and the gore that seems such apart of Kevin as his broken soul. It’s messy and sticky and you can’t stand the scent of heavy metal that lingers in the air, but it’s a disturbance that has dulled to a mere annoyance with time. Months of working, so many months of working and yearning for freedom that was stolen away from StrexCorp has left you scrabbling for even the simplest, silliest moments of genuine joy.

For you, that joy came in Kevin. 

His gestures, his warmth, even the hallow lie of his exuberant joy–all of those things gave you something to focus on. Something to believe in. To find the smallest spark of happiness. The comfort of another person in a situation as painful as yours is an immensely powerful force. The pain leaves you raw and wanting, desperate, wanting something,  _anything_  that could numb or distract that very pain away.

The man’s fingers gently combed through your hair. Fingertips pressed, so gently, against the curve of your scalp. They messaged little shapes against your skin as his voice continued to fill the air like the peals of bells, the sugary sound, as fake as it was still filling up a space in your chest and lulling your eyes to close. 

Your face nuzzled against the man’s knee, ignoring the slight pain in your legs from sitting that way for so long. His fingers again scratched at your head, a wordless motion of comfort that you drank up like water, parched for something as simple as basic human contact. 

A soft noise escapes you as you finally decide to shift, a noise of mild pain when your knees remember that they are actually knees and bend a certain way. It’s so quiet, but Kevin seems to hear it–you look up just as his eyes flick down to meet yours, wide and black like the night sky.

When he pauses between sentences, it’s then that the man’s lips pull in a smile. A  _smile._  It’s really hard to call the expression a smile, considering the scarring on either sides of Kevin’s mouth, mutilation so many years old yet it still makes any twitch of his lips look manic and malevolent.

But to you it’s just a look of approval. He pulls his blood-stained fingers through your hair again in a pseudo-domestic moment between the two of you and, after a breath, continues on with the story he had been reporting on moments before.


	6. Kevin: A Little Surprise [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request** : im dyin ok?? that sexy possessive kev thing got me like DAMN. but what if during the hour when reader is home alone and kev's still at work reader has a spark light in her belly. she's on her period so no shock there. but she can't ignore it anymore. so she lays in bed for some fun alone time! she gets so into it she doesn't hear when kev gets home! he's like ? cuz she always greets him? then he finds her in bed, blood running down her thighs, squealing her bliss as she plays with herself! uwu

Kevin knows that there is something wrong the moment that he steps into the apartment. A dialed password and the opening of a door, the few steps past that door and then…nothing. He stood there at the entrance of the apartment, looking over to the open kitchen, livingroom and then towards the hall. There was nothing, nobody else there.

That was precisely the issue. For the past several months he had grown so used to you being there when he arrived, however late that work kept him into the evening. He was used to opening the front door and being greeted by the rushed affection of his pet, wrapping your arms around his body and pulling yourself tight against him, a silent plea for comfort and attention that you always so sorely desired. Kevin was so used to this habit, so used to the feeling of indistinct  _power_  that flourished in his chest from this exchange that when he opened the door to find nobody there…

Well, he felt a thread of muted question pass over this thoughts. There had to be a reason that he wasn’t greeted upon coming home. After such a  _productive_  day at work, he had started to genuinely look forward to spending his several hours of mandated personal time with his pet. Oh, he had ached for the soft, needy look in your eyes since he’d last seen them that afternoon, how he had wanted to smother that soft skin in lovely marks of bites and bruises since the last ones had faded away with time. 

Oh, he was so silly to ramble on about useless thoughts–thoughts weren’t useful things, most of the time. So intangible, so worthless–material goods and physical things? Now those were better, had a worth and a weight to them–they had, as StrexCorp always liked to remind their employees, a  _value_.

The radio host was silent as he stepped through the apartment, question only growing when he couldn’t find you. Not cooking dinner, not reading a book, not–

A sound caught his attention. The man shifted, turning his head to look down the main hallway. There was a light shining beneath the door of the bedroom and-ah-yes, that’s where you were  _hiding_ , you silly thing. Silly, silly thing, what game were you trying to play?

Deciding to amuse your efforts, Kevin stepped down the hall and stood at the door, but it was then that the noises from behind it became much more discernible. Detailed. Obvious.

He heard his name and then the door was opened, the motion rough and quick and giving him a beautiful vision of what lay behind it. You’re on the bed, laying bare and naked and sprawled over the sheets. He smells the sultry scent of copper in the air, all mixed with the thick scent of your pleasure.

“What do we have here?” The man’s voice spoke, taking on a sing-song-like quality to the words. “If I knew that being away from me for an hour would make you so needy! Oh dearest, I would have  _had_  you in my studio and–oohhh.”

His eyes fell to the blood between your splayed legs, the ruby rivulets dripping down your thighs.

“Oh...oooh my,” Kevin’s words shake, just a little at the edges. “You even have such a sweet little gift for me, don’t you?” He takes one step towards the bed, and then a second. His empty eyes have a look in them, a look of hunger despite the fact that they look as dark as the night, without pupils or irises or anything to denote emotion. “You’ve already gotten yourself so messy, little pet but ah, don’t worry!-”

He reaches the bed, close enough to reach a hand out and gently press one of your knees farther open, if only so that his eyes can slide over your thighs and up to the point where all the blood is dripping, even smeared a little from your earlier, frantic attempts at seeking an end to your heated desires.

He flashes an impossibly wide smile.

“- _Kevin will clean you right up._ ”


	7. Cecil: Keep Talking [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request** : JUST SIT WITH ME AND IMAGINE THIS. imagine cecil is right smack dab in the middle of broadcasting. now imagine reader stealthily sneaks into the room without a sound. and before cecil can announce their presence reader holds a finger to their lips, mouthing 'keep going' before sitting across from him. he's confused but plays along, continuing his report but he nearly jumps out of his human skin when he feels reader's foot sliding up his leg towards his zipper. can he stay quiet til the weather~?

There is nothing more beautiful than hearing Cecil’s voice crack. The man always seems so composed, so self-assured, so confident when he speaks. In the moments that you’re able to make that voice falter and those words fall weakly from his lips, you can’t help but feel powerful, feel in charge and holding the weight of the room in the palm of your hand.

“-and it would seem that the issue at the Ralphs has finally been fixed, but not without the dedication and assurance of the Sheriff’s Secret Pol-”

The man lets out a noise, sudden and strained and quickly forced into a fake cough. The amusement is silent but plain on your face, your foot momentarily pausing, pressed against one side of Cecil’s inner thigh.

You raise a brow in question, gently, but unspeakingly urging the man to continue his report.

Cecil clears his throat after a few moments and speaks an apology into the mic, putting on a good show of obliviousness that makes you wonder if his listeners, if even a couple of them, could pick out what was going on in the studio. They couldn’t see Cecil’s face, couldn’t see the desperate little gleam in his eyes or the gentle shiver of his hands as he held the script. They couldn’t get anything more than the sound of his voice, but was that enough?

As he slowly speaks, moving into a new segment, you push your foot farther up the inside of Cecil’s inner thigh. The tips of your toes trace the seam of his pants, up closer, and closer…

“Now for an update on traffic,” Cecil says, his words tight and his eyes flicking to meet your own after a few seconds. “There is a car, a car on a forgotten highway. Whose car is it? What day is it? Does it even have efficient gas mileage? Nobody knows, but the car is on that very forgotten highway, the one we’ve seen in all our dreams.”

He takes a slow breath; you can see a gentle shake in his body, the tips of your toes just barely brushing against a firm shape pressing against the fabric of his pants between his thighs.

Another brow is quirked, this time in surprised amusement. 

_Have a kink don’t we, Cecil?_

“The car is driving on that highway. Imagine that car, imagine that car on that highway which is forgotten by everyone. The car is getting  _closer_ , you need to think about that car  _more_ , it’s getting  _closer_ and  _closer_  and please I need m-”

Cecil’s words stop so suddenly that the quickness almost feels as if it’s cut through something, leaving you shocked, but then delight pours over your features in its place. Oh, he was close to breaking, close to snapping–you could see the growing need on the man’s face and feel the gentle twitch of his cock against the flat of your foot as it still pressed teasingly between his legs.

“Andthatwastraffic-” Cecil’s voice rushes through the words like a waterfall. “Andnowhereistheweather.”

He doesn’t even take in a breath before he flips the switch from the live broadcast to the recording, his hips finally pressing against the pressure of your foot, seeking out the friction and heat and the million other things he had wanting in the back of his thoughts. 

“Fuck,” The radio host curses, a rare word on his tongue. “You win.  _Please_.” His hips rut desperately, his face looks tense, his eyes look anywhere but at your own in a mixture of pleasure and shame. “We have five minutes _.”_

The unspoken meaning of the words were not lost on you in the slightest.

Five minutes? Oh, that was a challenge you were happy to attempt.


	8. Kevin: Coming home to You [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** im dyin ok?? that sexy possessive kev thing got me like DAMN. but what if during the hour when reader is home alone and kev's still at work reader has a spark light in her belly. she's on her period so no shock there. but she can't ignore it anymore. so she lays in bed for some fun alone time! she gets so into it she doesn't hear when kev gets home! he's like ? cuz she always greets him? then he finds her in bed, blood running down her thighs, squealing her bliss as she plays with herself! uwu

Kevin knows that there is something wrong the moment that he steps into the apartment. A dialed password and the opening of a door, the few steps past that door and then…nothing. He stood there at the entrance of the apartment, looking over to the open kitchen, livingroom and then towards the hall. There was nothing, nobody else there.

That was precisely the issue. For the past several months he had grown so used to you being there when he arrived, however late that work kept him into the evening. He was used to opening the front door and being greeted by the rushed affection of his pet, wrapping your arms around his body and pulling yourself tight against him, a silent plea for comfort and attention that you always so sorely desired. Kevin was so used to this habit, so used to the feeling of indistinct  _power_  that flourished in his chest from this exchange that when he opened the door to find nobody there…

Well, he felt a thread of muted question pass over this thoughts. There had to be a reason that he wasn’t greeted upon coming home. After such a  _productive_  day at work, he had started to genuinely look forward to spending his several hours of mandated personal time with his pet. Oh, he had ached for the soft, needy look in your eyes since he’d last seen them that afternoon, how he had wanted to smother that soft skin in lovely marks of bites and bruises since the last ones had faded away with time. 

Oh, he was so silly to ramble on about useless thoughts–thoughts weren’t useful things, most of the time. So intangible, so worthless–material goods and physical things? Now those were better, had a worth and a weight to them–they had, as StrexCorp always liked to remind their employees, a  _value_.

The radio host was silent as he stepped through the apartment, question only growing when he couldn’t find you. Not cooking dinner, not reading a book, not–

A sound caught his attention. The man shifted, turning his head to look down the main hallway. There was a light shining beneath the door of the bedroom and-ah-yes, that’s where you were  _hiding_ , you silly thing. Silly, silly thing, what game were you trying to play?

Deciding to amuse your efforts, Kevin stepped down the hall and stood at the door, but it was then that the noises from behind it became much more discernible. Detailed. Obvious.

He heard his name and then the door was opened, the motion rough and quick and giving him a beautiful vision of what lay behind it. You’re on the bed, laying bare and naked and sprawled over the sheets. He smells the sultry scent of copper in the air, all mixed with the thick scent of your pleasure.

“What do we have here?” The man’s voice spoke, taking on a sing-song-like quality to the words. “If I knew that being away from me for an hour would make you so needy! Oh dearest, I would have  _had_  you in my studio and–oohhh.”

His eyes fell to the blood between your splayed legs, the ruby rivulets dripping down your thighs.

“Oh my,” Kevin’s words shake, just a little at the edges. “You even have such a sweet little gift for me, don’t you?” He takes one step towards the bed, and then a second. His empty eyes have a look in them, a look of hunger despite the fact that they look as dark as the night, without pupils or irises or anything to denote emotion. “You’ve already gotten yourself so messy, little pet but ah, don’t worry!-”

He reaches the bed, close enough to reach a hand out and gently press one of your knees farther open, if only so that his eyes can slide over your thighs and up to the point where all the blood is dripping, even smeared a little from your earlier, frantic attempts at seeking an end to your heated desires.

He flashes an impossibly wide smile.

“- _Kevin will clean you right up._ ”


	9. Cecil: Angelic Singing [Angelic!Reader AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** that singing assistant ask was ADORBS. but how about we mix it with the embarrassed angelic one! after reader gains the holy form they still like to sing. and they were so good before but now they're like a hallelujah chorus packed into one mortal-ish body! they have multiple heavenly voices that can bring tears to the eyes of any creature that hears them. and now when they get caught singing they curl into a ball of wings to hide their ethereal glowing face haha

It’s taken months to get used to your new self. There are so many facets to the life of being a half-angel hybrid, so many intricate details that you are still learning about–that everyone around you is learning about as well. There is of course the shape-shifting bit, the addition of a heavenly form that is so vastly different and yet the exact same as what you’d existed as before.

More height, more arms, more eyes and more wings (or wings in general, since you didn’t exactly have them prior to the shift). They were just new things to get used to, you suppose, like a lot of things that happen around Night Vale. 

You’ve taken to using the angelic form when you’re alone, hoping that the time spent in the new body would help you understand and control all the new body parts you didn’t have before. While at work, this meant in the archives of the radio station; the room was huge, allowing for plenty of room for your three sets of wings to fit comfortably without the fear of knocking something down. With your multiple sets of eyes you could scan the shelves for information all the faster, and carry so many more books and collected tomes of information with the extra arms that came from your body.

The time to yourself was nice, peaceful even, a period of time that you could relax into your own thoughts.

But the silence, while it was peaceful, was meant to be filled with noise at some point–you’d usually spend most of your time alone listening to music from your phone, humming along to the lyrics. As an angel, or at least in the  _form_  of an angel, it wasn’t nearly as easy to listen to music since the headphones didn’t fit properly or…maybe you didn’t have ears? It was hard to tell and you haven’t yet spent the time to figure it out

Oh well.

Singing seems to come quite naturally to you in this form. You’re not very sure why, and you’re  _definitely_  not in the position to understand the physics of it, but the very sound of your voice is sonorous and echoed, the very energy of a packed choir with all the parts in but one person. You don’t feel the presence of others within you and yet it sounds like you’re beautifully possessed, trailing the air with sweet music of your own.

Words of another language long forgotten slip from your lips as you take to the shelves, simply letting your mind run free with a tune so familiar and yet to unknown that all you can think to do is let if fly free from deep in your chest. It fills the air like bells, your voice, echoing around you with all of the heavenly energy that you’d assume of an angel’s song.

Minutes, hours–the time flies by without you realizing it (and this is after the fact that time doesn’t really exist for most of Night Vale, it’s a really weird thing). Books are organized, information is collected and you? You feel as free as can be, wings shifting and body almost dancing to the gentle lilt of your voice. The sound is so powerful, so many voices coming from one source, so many-

You don’t have a chance to finish that thought. Though you fill the room with heavenly noise, the sound of someone clearing their throat cuts through it all like a knife, down to the very pit of your very human, very surprised, very embarrassed thoughts. You move with the quickness of lightning, turning around and catching sight of a familiar face at the door, one who is fervently wiping away what you assume was light tears welling in his eyes.

“ _Cecil_?” You ask, voice multiple but holding surprise in each layer. “ _What are you–I mean–how long have you been there_?”

Cecil takes a moment to compose himself, looking as if he had been wrought over with emotion.

“Just a few minutes,” he says, a smile on his face and looking otherwise as composed as he always is. “I wanted to let you know that it’s time to go home and uh, if you still wanted to ride with me.” 

His eyes flicker around your form, as if unsure which set he is supposed to be looking at. “You uh…sound very good. Your voice, all of your voices–are you multiple people now? I haven’t thought to ask and I feel that’s been rude of me.” He shook his head of the thought, distinctly keeping himself from running down a separate topic. “I mean, no matter what, it is…beautiful. Your voice.”

There’s more to the man’s thoughts, something deeper in his meaning, but you’re far too preoccupied with the sudden rush of embarrassment saturating your thoughts and focus.

“ _I_ -” The word hangs in your throat, voice still multiple, still sonorous and strong despite how your heart fluttered against your chest. “ _I…th-thank you…_ ” 

You’re hiding your face behind your wings without realizing, pulling the fluffy, regal-looking limbs around your body to hide the way your face literally glows with light. 

You feel vulnerable and exposed and small but in all the right ways, the ways that make your stomach fill with butterflies.


	10. Cecil: Staying Quier [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** I need more of that good Cecil lovin', would you possibly indulge me with some pushing him into a small space in the radio station and sucking on his neck while he tries to be quiet? thank you <3

There is a look that Cecil gets when he’s feeling submissive. It’s hard to describe it accurately–at least not to a level you’re satisfied with–but it’s something almost like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, without the violent implications in the end of that look. 

His eyes are wide, hiding nothing of his emotions just behind them, and his lips practically tremble when you push him another step back. The recording room is small, small enough that it doesn’t take more than a few steps of gentle pressing against his chest to have him back against one of the walls.

“We can’t-” The man starts, biting on his lower lip for a moment and shifting his eyes away from you. “We can’t do this  _here_.”

“Why not?” you ask, voice so light that it almost sounds casual to you. “There’s nobody else here, Cecil–what’s wrong with having a little fun?”

You lean your head forward as you speak, lips pressing against the crook of his neck, against warm flesh and a humming pulse.

The other pulls in a sharp gasp and you feel his body shake for but a moment–oh, you know where all of his sensitive spots are, and he knows you’ll take full advantage of them. He doesn’t struggle as you press yourself against him, crowding the man against the wall in a gentle show of dominance.

You press one gentle kiss after another over his neck. His hands find your hips, merely laying upon them as he lets you pin him back.

“It’s not soundproofed yet,” Cecil tries to argue, but the words catch your attention with something completely other than caution.

“ _Yet?”_ You ask, lips pulling back into a smile at the oddly-chosen wording. “So you’re saying that is that at some point I will be able to bend you over that desk and-”

“No!” Cecil says, cutting you off as his lovely eyes and his lovely face and his lovely  _everything_  start to sputter after realizing his mistake. “I mean yes, but no! I can’t just do…. _that_  in my recording studio. It would be unprofessional of me.”

“Uh-huh.”

The sarcasm drips from your response, but you don’t bother to fight him with another response right away. Your lips instead return to the man’s neck, pressing across his skin until you find a spot that is  _particularly_  sensitive–after a moment you suck hard on that spot, teeth gently pressing into soft flesh as Cecil all but  _writhes_  against you.

His mouth opens, his form tenses, but he lets out no noise but a thin, weak, strained whimper.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t like this?” The words brush over warm skin. “You wouldn’t want me doing all  _this_  to you without having to be quiet about it?” Another kiss, another hard suck over his throat and yet another thin, but quiet whine as Cecil’s body shakes.

You continue to torture him like that for a few more moments, enjoying the way he clutches to you, lets you hold him and press him back and make him feel small in all the ways he wants to be. It’s not that hard to catch those little moods of Cecil’s, not if you know how to spot them, but they are moods that he doesn’t like to outright talk about–so it’s nice to reduce him to this. 

You can feel his hips gently press against yours as he lets out yet another whine, head tilted to allow you all the room in the world to kiss a bouquet of blooming bruises along his skin.

But then, there’s a tiny whisper.

“…yes.”

It’s enough to pull your focus back, to lift your face and gently look at Cecil’s face (as his eyes are shut tight, in either pleasure or shyness–you’re not sure which).

“Hm?”

“Yes, I…” The man takes in a breath, then gently opens his eyes to meet your own. There is an undeniable look of hunger in those eyes. “…I would like it if you did that to me. When it happens.”

His eyes finally fall, just slightly, staring more at your chest than at your face.

“….on the desk.”

Oh, how you smile at the thought of  _that_. You locked that away in the back of your thoughts to come back to later, maybe ask Cecil about it when the two of you weren’t acting like horny teenagers.

“Good t’know,” you say, pressing your face against his neck again, kissing right below Cecil’s ear and jawline. “I think this is nice though; always wondered if I could make you cum just by playing with your neck.”

Considering the sound that came from Cecil’s mouth in response to both the words and your tongue against his skin, you assumed the answer was probably going to be a yes–and also that the room really  _did_  need some soundproofing.


	11. Kevin: Kneel [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request** : OOF i gotTA request a kevin x reader out of you.... can we get a male reader intern who has to give kevin his papers during the broadcast, and kevin grabs him by the collar of his shirt and asks him to "stay till the weather" (my friends and i have started using this as a metaphor for "i need you to stay in case i get horny")

The day is busy. Very busy. You’re running around the station as if the building is on fire, delivering notes and grabbing supplies and catching tasks from anyone who so much as catches sight of you. It’s aggravating, especially since everyone likened to treat you like their secretary–and you can’t do anything about it. Argument only deducted minutes from your already-short lunch break and put red marks on your record, so you just do what you can to get it all over with and scurry back to the recording room.

You’re back just in time, script in-hand and stepping through the door to the soundproofed section where Kevin is sitting in front of the mic. The room is surprisingly clean–you can’t help but note a severe lack of red staining the walls.

All you have to do is just give him the script. Just hand him the papers with that wide, fake smile muscle memory has imprinted on your lips and leave.

Kevin doesn’t look at you when you enter the room; he’s talking about something in that too-chipper voice of his, laughing at a joke he must have told moments before you walked into the booth. It’s only when you’re next to him that he finally realizes you’re there, taking the freshly-printed script in one hand–

And grabbing the front of your shirt with the other in a single, sharp motion.

It’s so fast that you don’t have time to react, don’t have time to do more than blink and let the feeling of his fingers clutching tight against your chest register in your brain.

“…so it sounds like finances are good today, Desert Bluffs!” He doesn’t lose that sickly-sweet smile, his hand having snapped to grab you without sparing so much as a glance in your direction. “And speaking of finances, make sure you put in all those work hours from this week into your log; we all know what  _happens_  if you don’t!”

It’s only then that he laughs and, though he has no pupils to speak of in those hollow, dark sockets, you could swear you feel him  _staring_  at you (which is impossible, he’s not even facing you).

“Goodness! It seems like my assistant is here with my next segment-” In a motion just as fluid and swift as his hand to grab you, Kevin flips off the microphone and finally turns his face towards you.

The smile on his face is wide, terrifyingly wide, but there’s something else completely in his eyes. Something that presses into your thoughts like a wave, heavy and hot and unyielding in it’s very ferocity.

“ _Kneel_.”

It’s one word, a simple word really, but one that you don’t understand at first. Kevin doesn’t repeat himself. His smile drops for all but a fraction of a second, hand tugging your clothes firmly enough that you have to follow the motion he’s dragging you in–and that’s down, on your knees beside him.

Your thoughts are nothing but a whirlwind of confusion. Heat fills your cheeks as you finally start to realize what he had commanded, though you’re already on the ground and on your knees, practically leaning against the side of Kevin’s chair. His hand has moved, shifted up so that fingers can card slowly through your hair. 

It still feels like he’s staring at you, even though he’s turned his face towards the microphone again.

“I’m feeling very… _distracted_  today,” the man purred, taking a moment to gently tug at your hair, as if making sure your focus was on him. He finally giggled, and the noise is cold and foretelling much more than his words ever could. “Why don’t you stay right here until the weather. I’ll need that pretty mouth of yours for something by then.”

_Oh._

And with a hard click Kevin turned on the microphone again, leaving you to kneel beside him in obedient, gentle silence and try your best to ignore the pressure now between your legs.


	12. Cecil: Keep Your Focus [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request** : SUBBY CECIL YOU ARE SPOILING ME, but I raise you a challenge (by which I mean groveled request and salamander saliva drenched roach that crawls around with 'Yowza Baby' scrawled on it's back) fucking Cecil so good that he starts to loose control of his form, each thrust into him (want to peg that man like no tomorrow) the humanoid grip on reality lessens, dark tentacles writhe beneath you, what will he be by the time he's allowed to cum?

Hands scratching down your back, fingernails biting into your skin and leaving soft red lines.

Eyes shut tight, lashes tickling against heat-flushed cheeks.

Lips parted, spilling out words of want and need and  _filth_  that you’ll never hear anywhere else in the world but this single, intimate moment.

Skin flushed, warm to the touch and vaguely non-existent in large patches over a writhing, needy, debauched form.

All of these things you see before you,  _below_  you, your lover happily pressed against the mattress and his legs splayed apart so you can settle between them. 

“You’re beautiful,” the compliment spills from your lips. “Beautiful, beautiful,  _beautiful_  Cecil.”

Every repeat of the word makes the man gasp and shake–or maybe it’s the fact that each one is emphasized by a hard thrust forward, hips flush against his own and body deliciously ravished by another wave of pleasure. He’s been lost to the haze of pleasure for a while now and he still acts so shy, so lovely and sweet and makes all of the right noises that make you crave him all the more.

“P-…Please…” The radio host sobs, voice nothing but a whisper in the hot air between his face and yours. “Please I– _hnng_ –I need…m-mo-re.”

Another thrust, another moan, another sweet shake of Cecil’s form against yours. You feel the grip of his legs get tighter around your waist, ankles crossed over the small of your back and his nails digging hard into your shoulders. The pain is barely a note in the back of your mind, a compliment to the pleasure of seeing hims so thoroughly pulled apart beneath you.

But that’s not the most  _beautiful_  thing of all.

No, what catches your attention, your focus, your very  _awe_  is the fact that Cecil barely even looks human anymore. He has the shape of a human and the general details of a human form, but the patches of ink-black darkness has spread, the very connection to his human visage breaking down in the heat of unrelenting pleasure. 

He looks like shadow beneath you, like a piece of the night sky–mostly void, partially stars. He looks completely beyond what should be possible, a literal void of darkness with tendrils sneaking out from beneath him and whipping wildly in the air around both of you.

He’s lost such a grip on himself, fallen so completely into the moment. 

When you glance up his almost amorphous body, you find that Cecil’s eyes are finally open, if only slightly, looking up at you with such a deep, submissive reverence that your heart leaps in your chest.

His eyes look like gemstones, bright against the backdrop of face. 

“I love you,” is all that he can whisper–his voice sounds half-there, a literal doubled noise that sounds as ethereal as he looks. “I love you so much, so so much–” and then he moans and it is the most  _gorgeous_  sound you’ve ever heard before. He sounds like warmth and joy and bells–he sounds like happiness and love.

On his cheeks is color, a flush of violet, almost nebular against his form. Freckles of stars seem to glimmer with every single gasp and his tattoos–the ones you’ve kissed and mapped across his body before–they linger into his new form and practically  _glow_ with his joy.

Your pace continues as you finally lean down, capturing his mouth and tasting the very universe on his lips, a galaxy on his tongue. You can taste his words, his moans, his begging–all as sweet as sugar and as addictive as a drug.

“I love you too,” is all you can say, whispering against his mouth. “Oh Cecil, Cecil I want to feel you cum for me-”

The tendrils of inky darkness start finding your limbs from their mindless thrashing. They start wrapping around you, clutching you,  _needing_  you.

“-Cum for me Cecil, my beautiful, wonderful, perfect Cecil.”

Those are the words that he’s looking for. 

Cecil lets himself go with a sharp gasp that seems to transcend your ability to even hear it, his sobbing of your name leaving beautiful flashes of color in your mind, behind your eyes, warmth tingling down your spine. He arches up and encourages you to keep your pace with little sputters of what is likely words, though they’re utterly lost in the moment as everything comes together in a crash of  _everything_.

And Cecil looks so  _beautiful_.


	13. Carlos: The Table that Doesn't Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** reader x carlos im begging you

You’re never quite sure what Carlos is working on, most of the time. You’re sure that he’d tell you if you’d ask–he’d probably tell you in quite a bit of detail–but it’s just as nice to visit him when he’s working and see if you can figure it out yourself (plot twist: you’re never are able to figure it out).

Today, Carlos is very intensely focused on a table. From what he’s already explained to you it’s apparently not  _actually_  a table. Sure, it looks like a table, it holds things like a table and you can even sit on it like you can any other table–but he says it is most definitely  _not_  a table and has been spending the last several days trying to prove it.

The aforementioned bit of not-furniture sits off in the corner of the lab when you enter. It’s a lot more open than you’d expect of a laboratory, as other members of Carlos’ team are doing their own thing on the other side room, but it’s like to do with the fact that the building was re-purposed from what was in fact once the Night Vale High School gymnasium. 

There was nothing  _wrong_  with the gym, though it was really hard for students and faculty to use it when the school itself was in fact several miles down the road, so they eventually built a new one, leaving the old building a perfect option for Carlos and his team when they came to Night Vale.

It isn’t hard to find Carlos as you step inside the lab–he’s at a computer, staring at the screen as if trying to parse through whatever is on the screen. He hasn’t noticed you yet, though that’s certainly nothing new when he’s neck-deep in a new project, his focus always hard on the problem in front of him. It’s that tenacity that’s cute about him, his willingness to tackle an issue until he’s able to figure it out, pull it apart and put it back together.

It’s so cute, honestly.

With a brief wave to several members of the team as you pass them, you step up behind Carlos and lean yourself gently against his back, your chin propped atop his head and arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders.

“Any progress on that not-really-table?” you ask, amusement sprinkled over your words.

“Not yet,” the man says, not missing a beat as he turns his face to the side so you can press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I have a theory that it’s merely a figment of our collective imagination being projected into this plane of existence, but I need to run more tests to back it up.”

“What kinda tests?” The question is innocent enough.

Carlos hums, glancing over the screen of text in front of him for a moment before he answers and, well, you don’t exactly understand any of what he’s saying. You understand the words, sure, you have a fairly good grasp on language, but putting those words together in the way he’s putting them just leaves you confused, but otherwise enjoying the enthusiasm in the man’s gentle tone.

You may never understand everything that Carlos does as a scientist, but his curiosity and energy for what he loves is what will always make your heart skip a beat.

He’s waving his hands around his face, talking with them as much as he does words, but finally pauses to take a breath long enough that you impulsively lean down and kiss his cheek again.

“You know what would be a great test to run to see if that table isn’t real?”

Carlos blinks, then turns his face to look at you with genuine curiosity not even hiding in his honest eyes.

“What do you suggest?”

You can’t stop your lips from blooming wide into a smile, even before the words have left them. After leaning down, you whisper the suggestion in his ear soft and alluringly.

It catches the scientist  _completely_  off-guard, his face hot and his expression that of surprise, so much so that he seems to forget to control the volume of his exclamation,

“We can’t fuck on the table!”

And then he freezes.

“ _Shit_.”

From across the room you can hear a sudden, uproarious laughter. A casual glance yields the the visage of a couple other scientists, Carlos’ friends and colleagues, in various states of amusement among one another.

One of them even gives Carlos a  _look_ , brows waggling before he’s lost in a low chuckle once more, all of them slowly returning to their own projects with only the faintest joke among themselves, though it is all in genuine, light-hearted fun.

Carlos is left looking flustered, though he doesn’t reject another loving, playful kiss on his cheek.


	14. Kevin: Lovely Shade of Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** (Prompt) "Your face is so red! It makes me want to just-" He slowly drags the knife down the side of your cheek.

“Such a lovely shade too!” 

You feel the cold press of metal, just barely sliding down the side of your face. The edge doesn’t cut into your skin, but it’s close enough that the slightest pressure makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a wonder how you’re able to remain so still, almost statuesque as Kevin holds your chin so ironically soft with his free hand.  

You keep silent as Kevin looks you over, expression curious and lips pulled into a nearly-manic grin.

“I wonder what’s making your face so lovely-looking right now,” he toys with the words, his tone leaving them far too innocent for the fact that he has a small knife against your cheek. “Is it embarrassment? Fear?  _Arousal?”_

He seems interested in the possibility of the last one.

His thumb moves, brushing up and over your lips in a moment of quiet observation. The tip of the knife trails with his gaze, stroking down the side of one cheek, under your chin, then back up to the top of the same cheek. Though there is no intention of drawing blood in the motion, fear still simmers in the back of your mind.

“You know,” Kevin’s expression finally smooths, looking almost charming as his smile grows gentle and his eyes half-lidded, but still as dark as night. “I think someone like you would make a wonderful pet….my dearest.”


	15. Kevin: Scents [Omegaverse]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Request:** mmm all this possessive/jealous kevs got me thinking! imagine omega au reader went to get files from another dept. on her way back she got cornered by some fool that actually put his hands on her. all strex employees are artificial gammas. but they wear cologne/perfume. kev adores reader's natural scent and he also loves it when its mixed with his cologne. but he's.. upset when they return, near tears and smelling of another's cologne. needless to say he hunts them down and skins them! :)

When the next, inevitable work day comes, you find it more peaceful than normal. It takes you several hours before you can pinpoint the reason, having jumped from one possibility to another with no hint or trail of thought that seemed to make any sense. Is it you? Is it the office? Is there a rare day off of work coming up for those who have met their hourly quotas of productivity?

No, none of those things in fact. It doesn’t strike you until you’re making copies in the print room, eyes gently glancing over the machine as it whirred, spitting out one copy after another of a flyer. Your body feels tense, waiting for a hand on your shoulder or a word in your ear from someone familiar but entirely unwanted–not Kevin’s voice, far from it, but someone else. Someone far less comforting than Kevin ever could be even on his worse of days.

The realization lingers in your mind even as you walk back to the radio section of the building, arms full of flyers and mind full of curiosity, if sprinkled with quite a bit of relief. 

“Kevin,” you say gently, catching sight of your boss and mate sitting at the editing station chair, sipping at a mug. “I made all the copies for the meeting like you asked.”

The smile on your lips brighten when you look at him, beaming almost with a little bit of genuine pride–pride that only he’s allowed to see, pride that only exists in front of him and no one other. 

The man takes another sip of his drink, sets it down and then steps towards you, taking the papers from your hands and glancing them over appreciatively. After a hum to show he’s satisfied with how they look, he sets them down on a nearby desk and, with the quickness to steal your breath away, presses his lips to yours.

The kiss lingers, a bit deeper than what might be office-professional behavior, but you can’t find the thought in your head to mind it at all. His kisses taste of copper, he smells of a cologne you’ve grown to adore–it makes every inch of you feel just a little weak. It’s hard to suppress instincts in an environment that acts like the wild, just with a little more paint and corporate propaganda. 

Kevin hums as the kiss breaks, ultimately trailing his mouth across your cheek, to your ear, then nuzzling down at the spot just below–the barely-visible bond scar marking your skin. 

“You smell so lovely, dearest,” the man murmurs, nuzzling against the mark with his lips, his cheek brushing yours, his hands lightly pressed to your hips. “Not a whiff of another on you.”

You sigh, comforted in his gesture of possessiveness.

“By the way, Kevin,” your words are a soft, but curious whisper. “What…happened to Kelly?”

“Hm?” He nuzzles your neck once more, gently parting his lips and pressing his tongue over the sensitive bond-mark.

“Kelly. You know, from…a couple days ago?”

You know he didn’t forget–it was a very stressful day. She was someone who worked in logistics and always seemed to know when you were in the print room, always seemed to be too close to you, always seemed to have her hand on your shoulder or arm, leaving you smothered with her scent to the point that you couldn’t even remember what Kevin’s scent was like–which is plenty jarring as an omega in such a day-to-day stressful environment already.

“Oh,” Kevin sighed, tone dropping coldly. “You mean  _her_. Don’t you worry a moment about that, dearest. I’ve taken care of her–she won’t bother you or smother up that lovely scent of yours again.”

The tone doesn’t frighten you–you’ve long since gotten used to the dark inner-workings of StrexCorp and it’s dog-eat-dog hierarchy system, let alone the lack of genuine care to any employee that wasn’t important enough to earn said care. It’s more genuine, almost morbid curiosity that takes you over, making you pull back just a touch so you can look into Kevin’s hallow eyes.

“Kevin, what happened to her?”

The man purses his lips for a moment, debating some internal thoughts.

“Well, I certainly had a  _chat_  with her about respecting the personal boundaries and claims of others,” He finally said, sounding almost like a child trying to wiggle his way around saying an outright truth. “And…you know, she just decided she wasn’t such a good fit working at the radio station anymore. I doubt that we’ll ever see her again. Ever.”

You are almost about to ask for him to clarify, but Kevin pushes the desire right out of your mind when he presses his lips to yours once more. The scent of warmth pleasantly overwhelms you, the artificial cologne of an alpha doing more than what you need to keep you feeling calm and very, very safe.


	16. Cecil: Shrodingers Omega [Omegaverse]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Okay, but can we get Reader getting someone to back off from their Siren? Kevin or Cecil, I just wanna see Reader return the favor.
> 
> schrodingers omega cecil but with a reader who’s an alpha..

If there was one thing that you absolutely loved about Cecil, it was simply how endearing he could be. You couldn’t put a finger on it, but the man had a way with making everything he did seem cute or charming or just plain adorable, even if sometimes a tiny bit annoying in the moment of it. It was simply his smile, his laugh, his way of being confident and shy in the same second of time for almost everything.

However, that endearing nature of his was also what you loathed the most–not Cecil himself of course, nothing to do with him, you wouldn’t want him to change for the world ten times over. It was simply the fact that since he was such an endearing person, it….well…

A lot of other people often felt the same way towards him. 

This wasn’t always an issue, since most people understood the concept of boundaries and respected mating bonds. However, for others it seemed to be quite the monumentous task–this was true largely for alphas, alphas who thought it was acceptable for them to just walk right up to Cecil and act like hormonal teenagers and talk to him like they had any right to just–

UGH.

Even thinking about the general details of the issue made anger simmer in your blood, the heat nearly boiling over to the point where you want to scream into the void of the desert sky. Not the normal kind of screaming either, the kind everyone tends to do on Tuesday nights–actual angry screaming. Maybe screaming loud enough that all the other alphas of Night Vale would just keep their posturing in their pants so you didn’t have throw down with them all the time.

So you and Cecil were at the Ralphs a few days back. It wasn’t anything too special, just grabbing a list of things that the fridge was low on. Milk, eggs, mushrooms that were only vaguely radioactive–the standard fare, really. 

Cecil, the lovable oddity that he is, had been in his omega type for a few weeks. There was no expected heat coming up for him, no issues, everything was lovely–especially since the activities from the night prior had him completely  _smothered_  in your scent, which was always a thing of satisfaction for most alphas.

The two of you were talking about what brand of cereal to get when you remembered something on the list that you had passed in the next aisle over. 

“Just pick out your favorite one,” you said to Cecil in the end, pecking him on the cheek before stepping around and to the next aisle to search for the item in question. It took a minute, maybe two minutes tops since you were relatively familiar with the layout of the Ralphs grocery store.

You were gone for barely two minutes.

When you stepped back around to the cereal aisle, your blood started to boil before your eyes could even begin to consciously parse together the situation. There was a man hovering over Cecil, having the man pressed so that he was almost against the shelves. He didn’t look familiar but oh, did he smell of an alpha; unmated, posturing, annoying as hell.

“Aren’t you a cutie,” the alpha said, his very voice grating to your ears. “I’m new around here and I was hoping that I could get a little help with understanding the layout of the town–you’re Cecil Palmer, am I right? Radio host for the local station?”

Cecil’s expression looked cheerful as he all but clutched the box of cereal against his chest, but you could see past the facade and see the unnerved little tics in his body language. Even when he was nervous or uncomfortable, Cecil always tried to be a positive and helpful sort.

“Yes! I uh–I’m just your local radio host here, but I don’t think I have the time to really help you ou-”

“Oh it’s just a couple questions,” The alpha assured, the words making you have to restrain yourself from tackling or punching his stupid face outright. “I promise I don’t bite, though for an omega like you I could sure make an exception.”

That’s when you had enough, when your brain finally clicked through to a point where you weren’t about to toss the man out the nearest window.

“Back the hell off,” you said through clenched teeth, stepping forward to put a hand on the man’s shoulder and yank him several steps back. Cecil didn’t say anything but looked visibly relieved, eventually situating himself just behind you.

The other alpha blinked, as if just then noticing you.

“Oh,” he sounded caught off-guard, but less in a thing of genuine surprise and more like a man trying to gather up his dignity because he was caught trying to schmooze another alpha’s mate. “I’m uh, I’m sorry there–Didn’t realize he was marked or anything. Promise I meant no harm.”

“I fucked him last night.” The words come out tense and unfiltered–you could practically  _feel_ Cecil’s embarrassment. “There is no way you could have missed my scent you jackass, unless you don’t have a working nose?”

You take a step forward, shoulders pulled back and jaw muscles tensed; perhaps it was an overly-threatening response, but you had to deal with these assholes more than enough times that you were constantly at the end of your mental rope.

The other man looked at you, momentarily offended, and started to open his mouth to say something. You didn’t exactly let him finish as you took another step forward and pressing into his personal bubble, teeth bared and two seconds away from having a fist-fight in the grocery store if it came to it.

“Back. The. Fuck. Off,” You growled. “I have the money to repair the window I will toss you out of if you don’t.”

A second passes.

Then another second.

The air is tense, thin as a thread and ready to snap.

“ _Give me a reason_ ,” you finally murmured, just loud enough for the other alpha to hear you. “ _I fucking dare you_.”

But that’s when he finally backed down. The man held up his hands in submission, quickly turning around and stepping out the aisle and assumedly out of the store.

It took a moment for you to settle down. Your muscles still felt tense and your mind was still swimming with aggravation, but you turned to look over at Cecil, your omega–he looked somewhere between embarrassed, worried and turned-on.

“Are you alright?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking, approaching Cecil so you can reach out a hand and gently place it on his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he said gently. “Thank you.”

You sighed and, after a moment, lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips, comforting yourself in his scent mixed with yours.


	17. Kevin: Aphrodisiac [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: kevin is DEF a dom boy. and reader is sub enough (crippling fear of life around u will do that) but like imagine a scenario where something happens that cranks reader's arousal thru the roof. maybe an airborn virus got her or she accidentally ate an aphrodisiac. whatever the cause, kevin comes home and is tackled by a very horny very needy reader. she climbs him like a tree and he's So Happy. he's never seen her like this! she rides him like a prize stallion for hours ok. just. he's Shook. ;)

You’re not sure what did it. Seriously, you’ve wracked your brain at least a dozen times over but you just don’t know what had been the cause–from food to virus, emotional manipulation to secret hormonal experiments, you simply can’t pin down the thing that made your entire body feel like it was on fire with need.

It’s not like it really matters much anyway–you’ve been home for almost an hour and pacing around the apartment. The feeling of heat has grown into full-blown arousal, a depth of lust and desperation that you’ve never quite felt before. Every step sends a shiver down your spine, every thought filled with ideas and fantasies of how you might be able to sate the growing hunger in the pit of your stomach.

Kevin doesn’t come home until around an hour after you do on most normal days–you haven’t told him about anything yet, mostly since you had feared it was your paranoia going absolutely crazy just a few hours prior, and certainly nothing you wanted him to get concerned over. Oh, oh but now you need him to get involved in this issue. Like, literally  _need_  him. A lot. And if going by the various thoughts that have lingered and clung to your brain, you need him specifically in a lot of positions that all involve you getting fucked within an inch of sanity.

It’s impossible not to hear the door when it opens, Kevin stepping through with that ever-present smile on his face. You’ve gotten used to the expression, like some sort of mildly disturbing opposite of the ‘resting bitch face’ look. It hardly bothers you anymore, and it certainly doesn’t stop you from practically parkouring across the living room furniture and jumping into the man’s arms.

“Goodness!” Kevin all but shouts, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as your lips instantly went for his neck. “What in the world has come over you, dearest?”

“Need you,” is all you can say against his throat, kissing across his exposed skin in a feverish need. . “Need you so bad, right now–I’m hot all over Kevin and I  _need_ you.”

Considering the abruptness of the moment the man swings with it pretty well, collecting your body quite easily into his arms and carrying you bridal-style across the apartment and, without stopping, into the bedroom. He tries to lay you on the bed, but you can’t stop yourself from clinging to him, your fingers wrapped tight in the front of the man’s shirt and tugging needily at the fabric.

“Now,” you whimper softly, not wanting to tear the clothes off for worry it would anger him, but feeling the same intensity all the while. “Please. Kevin I–I’m so wet, just–just fuck me, I’ve been waiting for-”

But you don’t get to finish the sentence; the man’s eyes, though hallow and lifeless, still seem to widen with excitement as he listens to the words drip sweetly from your lips. With your help, it doesn’t take him long to strip down bare and, once you are much the same, it doesn’t take any time at all for the two of you to naturally fall onto the bed together.

Your lips are locked in a feverish, deep kiss, hands mapping out the body of scars and oddly taut muscles that you’ve felt plenty of times before–but this is something new, something  _almost primal_  coursing through your very veins. Seeing him, feeling him, tasting his lips–it’s so much already and yet not nearly enough, not what your body craves for deep somewhere in your belly.

You eventually find yourself sitting astride Kevin’s hips, his hard cock pressed against the front of your belly and his eyes staring longingly at you from the pillows. 

“Oh,  _dearest_ ,” he says alluringly. “If I had known you were  _longing_  for me this much, I would have just taken an hour longer shift tomorrow. You look so delicious up there–now…what are you planning on doing?”

He lifts a hand and presses it over your hip. He’s not controlling your movement, just feeling you, caressing his fingertips across your soft skin. It’s rare for him to relinquish so much control of the moment, though Kevin’s expression certainly looks intrigued, dangerously so, which makes the moment all the hotter as a shiver works down your spine.

“I’m…” The words shake a little in your voice, but the pressure and heat of his cock, his eyes, his everything–it’s perfect. “I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh?” Kevin says in distinct interest, his other hand coming up to lay on your opposite hip. “You are? Well–” he giggles softly “–don’t let me stop you. You look like you’ve been craving for something  _hot_  and  _hard_ inside you for a while.”

He emphasizes the words with the slightest shifting of his hips, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. He has no control on the motion and yet, even laying beneath you, there’s such a distinct  _allowance_  of power from him that it delights you.

With a breath, you do your best to keep Kevin’s gaze (or lack thereof) as your hips move, up, positioning yourself gently over his cock. And then–

You slowly, wonderfully, perfectly sink yourself down.

There’s no underestimating the relief and satisfaction of being opened up so intimately. There’s something delicious about it, something not quite pleasure in the physical, electrical sense, but a pleasure in the mental comfort, in the almost primal nature of it all.

Your lips part as a blissful moan spills out, Kevin’s name flowing somewhere within.

His fingers tighten their grip over your hips as you sink, inch after inch until he’s seated fully within your body, muscles clenching tight around him.

“Oh, oh  _dearest_ –” Kevin gasps. It sounds like he can barely keep his words strung together. “You feel–ah–you feel so  _good!”_  

But still he doesn’t move you, doesn’t do more than hold tight to your hips and give you the moments you need to filter through the pleasure simmering in your belly at how his cock fills you up.

And then, slowly, you lift your hips and sink back down–starting a slow, but deep rhythm. It lets you control the angle the speed–it lets your hips move in such a way that the deepest itch can get scratched, the most carnal layer of your heat-stricken mind.

Now  _this_  is exactly what you need.


	18. Cecil / Kevin: Wearing their shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: THE FIRST TIME CECIL OR KEVIN SEE THEIR ASSISTANT WEARING THEIR SHIRTS (while at home) YOU KNOW THEY DAMN NEAR DIE ON THE SPOT. reader looks so cute in their work button up shirt. it's half buttoned so they can see some of the skin of her chest and damn near all of her legs. and if she's wearing thigh highs with it????? that's it. game over for reader. there's no way she's not getting plowed against the closest available flat surface. whether that be a table, couch, counter, or wall. >:)

## Cecil

When he sees you, he can’t help but to stare. The familiarity with the shirt is only contrasted by the way you wear it, the way the cloth doesn’t fall over your form in the same way it does on him. ‘Beautiful’ is really the only word that comes to mind at first, the thought lingering in the ether of Cecil’s thoughts until he realizes that he is in fact staring, watching the way you shift your weight from one hip to the other and realizing that the shirt might very well be the only thing you’re wearing.

It’s barely able to cover past your hips, leaving the rest of your legs bare–he figures, with a flush of heat across his face, that it’s safe to assume the shirt is the only thing you’re wearing right now. There’s a gentle heat in his belly as he approaches you, steps soft and careful; his hands reach out to touch your hips, pull you back and against him. Cecil’s lips gently brush against the back of your ear and whisper, gently,

“The shirt looks good on you.” 

He’s sure it sounds better than him attempting to wax silly poetry about how the sight makes his stomach flip and his heart flutter, especially when he presses his lips to the spot of your neck just below your ear. 

He nibbles at your skin until you let out a sweet, perfect noise, feeling as his hands start to curl around the hem of the ill-fitting shirt and start tugging it up–the sound of a belt being undoing was equal parts arousing and amusing. If you had known what a sight like this would do to Cecil, you would have worn his shirts sooner.

* * *

## Kevin

When hollow eyes catch sight of you wearing one of his shirts, he’s curious for the reason why. It’s not as if he’s overtly possessive of his clothing–they all end up bloodied and ruined anyway–but he wonders why you thought to wear it. Moreover, Kevin’s thoughts distincts linger over the way it barely falls past your hips, the way it falls over your body, the way that you’re probably wearing absolutely nothing beneath it.

There’s a thick air of possessiveness around Kevin as he watches you for a few moments, eyes glued to all the little details of the moment. He doesn’t understand how a simple bit of clothing could put his thoughts through the blender, but there is is, feeling a heat in his stomach and a pressure between his legs. It only takes perhaps a second before he steps up to you, movement quick and hands quicker.

“This is a nice look for you, dearest,” Kevin says in a soft tone, his lust barely contained by a vague sense of casual delight. “Wearing something of mine? Are you trying to get me all riled up?”

The man chuckles, the sound just a touch too soft. His hands grip hard over your hips as he slowly presses you back, step after step until you are against the wall on the far side of the room, his heavy gaze never leaving your own.

“I hope you are–because it’s certainly working,” Kevin purrs. You can feel his hands slowly pressing down your hips, your thighs, before ultimately hooking fingers behind your knees and lifting them up to wrap around his waist. “And you know how much I love to  _play_  with you.”


	19. City Counsel: Crush on a human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: city council realizing they have feelings for a human? dating a human?? idk i just have a soft spot for city council

A human being is a fragile thing. A soft thing. A weak-willed and gentle thing. These aren’t layers of being that inherently make a human bad, but it’s apart of what they are as a species, as a group of people. They were birthed into the universe and will perish as fragile and soft–but does not every creature do the same in their own racial livespan?

The facts of inherent truth aside, there is one human who is special among all others. They are no different from any other human in terms of biology, no different in terms of physicality or power or anything other than silly little details that make them stand out from those of their peers.

And yet it is those very silly, little details that make them so special. So…beloved.

The City Counsel is not a creature to have ever been soft–the requirements of their very title calls for an iron-will and the ability to make hard choices, to see to the greatest good for all of Night Vale in times of both peace and peculiarity. Feelings of love and interest that lay anywhere outside the purview of their job seemed impossible.

And yet there they are, ordering flowers for this special human.

Yet there they are sending messenger children to make sure that very human is safe.

And despite it all, there they are, sending a message to the Voice of Night Vale himself, distinctly for personal reasons and without coverup, so that he can broadcast their amorous thoughts to that special human in his sonorous, enthralling, soft voice.

City Counsel has lived through many years, seen many things, experienced dozens of horrors inherent to the struggle of life of an uncaring universe along with the standard challenge of keeping a town together–they’re not quite sure which one is the harder task.

Love is still a very new emotion to them, some parts of them still coming around to the feeling itself. Unfamiliar and new, they don’t often like such things, avoid them if possible and instead seek the wisdom of entities yet older than they are and living between the space of reality and non-reality itself.

Nerves, most likely, but they hope that the human gets their message. They hope the human understand the significance of the flowers, hears the words on the radio.

City Counsel hopes that the human will return their request to go out on a date. They’re still new to the whole ‘dating’ thing but doesn't’ want them to feel pressured.


	20. Poly Cecil & Carlos: Babysitting Janice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: I gotta request, if that’s alright! Cecil, Carlos and Us, all getting together to take care of Cecil’s wonderful niece, Janice!! Just like, how we would include her in the daily life or if we’d all get some time off to spend it with her? (If it’s not too self indulgent, maybe continuing off of the Poly!Ceilos from before?) That’s up to you of course! Hope you’re having a great day!!

Honestly, you had been a bit nervous about the prospect of having Cecil’s young niece stay with the three of you over the weekend. You couldn’t put a finger precisely on why the thought left you a little worried, but it certainly wasn’t because you thought she would be anything other than lovely–you had met Janice on several occasions beforehand, and each time she had been an utter delight, a young woman with a lot of energy and joy and ideas for the world around her.

No, you were simply worried that she wouldn’t like you.

No rhyme, no reason, no logic to speak of that anchored such a fear down to concrete truth–just a thread of anxiety that wrapped around your mind in the days up till she arrived at the apartment

Cecil she obviously loved, her uncle and protector who spoiled her rotten, and Carlos could entice her with all his talk of science and experiments. But you? you felt rather uninteresting in comparison, unsure how you could match up with all the things she undoubtedly loved and had in common with her uncle and Carlos.

To suffice to say when she arrived at the apartment, face and eyes full of excitement, you took one little look at her-

And you can’t remember why you ever felt afraid.

Any sense of nerves or fear melted away within the first few hours. After being shown her place in the guest room, Janice started asking about Carlos’ recent research and scientific experiments–then she asked him if he knew anything about motors and engines.

One thing led to another, and she asked him if he could build some sort of crazy engine for her wheelchair, or maybe (in her own words) ‘something to leave my enemies feeling awed and terrified’

Though Carlos couldn’t do such a thing, citing that he was not a rocket scientist, just a scientist, the two of you still took some time with Janice to do some arts and crafts–and she said that it was still pretty cool to have fire cutouts on the sides of her seat.

Saturday was nice–the four of you went to the grocery store together, somewhat to actually get groceries, but also to let Janice help. It was actually your idea to let her pick out what she wanted for dinner that night; you felt so proud to have noticed how she seemed to be getting into cooking, so you even promised her that the two of you could cook it together.

“Good, because I love uncle Cecil and all,” the young woman said, the two of you alone in the pasta aisle of the Ralphs while Carlos and Cecil had been sent to get vegetables. “-I know that he can’t cool real well. One time he tried to boil water and burned it.”

You…didn’t know how that was possible, but you didn’t bother to ask for clarification–Janice seemed so happy to be responsible for the meal, and you figured that Cecil would take the enigmatic roast ten times over if it would make his niece smile.

In the end, the four of you had a very special dinner together: Mac n’ cheese with meatballs. It wasn’t anything you had ever thought to toss together, but Janice assured you it would taste amazing.

And you know what? It did, it tasted great and Carlos and Cecil praised the two of you three times over for the great work. The night finished with them doing the dishes, and then all of you watching a movie together.

Janice had a basketball game on Sunday, which all three of you attended with a great enthusiasm. It’s sometimes a little embarrassing to look back on, but you and your partners must have been screaming the loudest for her. Cecil almost tried to call some sort of foul when one of Janice’s teammates were ritualistically transported to another dimension, though Carlos calmed him down with the assurance that it was all part of the rules.

Janice’s team won in the end, her own score high and her three caregivers more than happy for her. You all went out for ice cream after that, going back and forth over a table at the Moonlight All-Night Diner about all of the best moments in the game–and how proud you all were of Janice’s skill in the sport

The weekend went by far too quickly. The two days spent with Janice were more fun than you’d thought it’d be, and it left you, Cecil and Carlos all with a certain joy hanging in your hearts, a mutual agreement that you would  _definitely_  be having Janice stay with you over the weekend more often.


	21. Cecil: Fatherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Kevin (or Cecil) being followed around by a little chorus of their siren bbys. Like ducklings <3
> 
> Sirens are an eldritch species of my own creation. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out the tag for them on my [WTNV tumblr blog here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/tagged/siren/chrono)

Cecil isn’t used to having days off from the radio station–not so many days off at a time, at least. He’s not about to complain for the extra time, especially since he needs it to spend time with his family, but it’s still something that the normally work-obsessed radio host is getting used to.

_“Aria no, put that down!”_

Well, it’s only  _one_  thing that he’s still getting used to. 

Having a child is definitely a life-changing aspect all of its own, and even after a couple years of changing diapers and late-night bottle feedings and first words, Cecil is still so susceptible to the wonder and stress that comes with having a child.

Children, that is. Multiple children–three of them to be totally precise, each with a rambunctious amount of energy that keep you and Cecil on your toes at all hours of the day. Cecil never really saw himself having a child, sortof in the same way as he never saw himself really growing old (but everyone eventually withers away in time, prey to the universe’s constant weapon of passing years). Still, life had thrown him plenty of things he never saw himself having, and he is certainly grateful to it all.

Even if he wishes that life would have given him warning to how exhausting having triplets is. Just a  _little_ warning, maybe even a vague message sent in a dream or swarm of voracious cockroaches–like how the City Counsel announced the new ban on potted plants. A  _little_  forewarning would have been nice.

Still, he loves his little girls. 

Aria, Jack and Cadence. Already five years old, even if time itself is a non-existent concept; rambunctious little girls with more energy than Cecil can muster up on some days.

* * *

Cecil stands at the corner of the street, holding Cadence on his hip while the other two of his daughters trail behind him, all three gently clipped on a lead to his belt from a colorful, fluffy vest on each of them. Though they are clever little kids, they haven’t quite picked up on conscious shape-shifting yet, so the harnesses do well to keep them out of harms way.

The two girls trail behind their father regardless, with Aria holding Cecil’s hand, and Jack holding Aria’s.

“Remember to look both ways when crossing the street,” Cecil reminds them gently, his eyes turning down one side of the road, then the other, despite the flashing icon on the pole at the other side: the time-lapsed image of a wilting rose.

All three of the girls repeat his words in what can only be described as a trio of soft chirping.

“Look both ways!” they mimic, dramatically looking in the same directions as their father.

They cross the street without issue, though they pass by Old Woman Josie, who is sitting at the small coffee house on the corner. Josie smiles and waves at the four of them.

“They grow up fast, don’t they?” she says, a smile on her lips as she glances from Cecil, then to the girls trailing after him, not-so-sneakily passing them a piece of butterscotch candy from her purse. “Make sure to share with your sister, you two.”

Cecil can’t help but smile as Jack and Aria babble between one another, then pass one of the candy pieces up so Cadence can take one for herself. 

They continue down the sidewalk, then across another intersection, and finally arrive at Mission Grove park. The past season has offered a number of renovations, and Cecil has been meaning to take the girls for quite a while, especially if it meant giving you a short break to handle some errands on your own–the girls could be quite a handful at times, after all.

Cecil could feel the growing excitement from all three of them as they enter the park, passing by a new bloodstone monument and Secret Cultist Circle That Nobody Talks About (though it’s really just a wooden sign that always seems marked with fresh blood). Beyond the picnic area is the park, a wonderful array of equipment that is popular with many parents of small children.

“Alright girls, you can go play for a while,” Cecil says, gently lowering Cadence to the ground, then kneeling so he can be as close to eye-level with the three of them as possible. “Now, what is the rule about strangers?”

“Don’t talk to them,” Aria said, her words sounding rehearsed. “And-”

“Pretend they don’t exist if they keep talking to us!” Jack interrupted, her smile as bright as her eyes, already jumping in place–the park was her favorite place to go. “Like mountains!”

Cecil smiles, then reaches a hand out to gently ruffle his daughter’s hair. 

“That’s right,” he says, a feeling of distinct pride in his chest. “If you need anything, I’m going to be on this bench over here, alright?”

The man barely gets past the word ‘anything’ before the three of them, unclipped from their leash, run wild and free towards the playground equipment, one trailing after another like a larger, boysterious group of ducklings. Cecil can hear them shouting amongst one another, planning on what play on first.

Cecil just smiles, chuckles, and then sits himself down on one of the nearby benches, watching his three daughters play.

Though he may still be getting used to fatherhood, Cecil certainly can’t help but love it just like he loves his family.


	22. Kevin: Comfort from Angel!Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: imagine angel reader soothing away all the horrible nightmares kev has after strex falls. him clinging to her as he sleeps and managing to actually get a full nights sleep for once. he doesn't wake up in a stress fueled panic but relaxed and well rested. he.. can't recall a time that's happened before.

Kevin can’t remember the last time he slept. Truly slept. He can’t even recall the last time that he was able to get through an entire night without waking up in a cold sweat and brain still hanging on night terrors that only existed in his mind. He can’t remember a time where he felt like sleep actually  _did_  anything for him, soothed away exhaustion or numbed the stress from the day before. He can’t remember the last time  _any_  of that happens.

So when it does, when Kevin wakes not to a nightmare but several warm sets of arms wrapped around him, the man is almost lost and confused in the notion itself. His eyes open, just a flicker, realizing that some of the light pouring on his body is not due to his partner–but the sunrise just outside one of the windows nearest to the bed.

He can’t remember the last time he woke up to the sunrise and not to a dark room, so it takes several moments before the weight of everything really hits him. Sinks into his thoughts, his chest, his bones.

Though he can’t feel the ache behind his hollow eyes, he can almost feel the faint lines that ink-black tears had made down his cheeks. Kevin can feel the remnants, emotions floating around his head like shattered shards of glass, only vaguely looking like what they had been before his breakdown. Worries, fears, pain–they all seemed so small against the smothering warmth of your body wrapping around him.

The warmth still didn’t hurt. He remembered being so afraid of it, afraid of your touch, your light–but it didn’t hurt; it  _doesn’t_  hurt. The warmth is instead so comforting, wrapping around Kevin’s body like a protective cocoon with wings and arms and an almost indescribable body that he simply knows as  _you_.

It’s only then that Kevin truly, finally understands why StrexCorp had been so wary of angels, why the company had hated them, loathed them so completely and passed such a mindset off to everyone who so much as touched their brand. Kevin can understand why angels are feared, revered, loved and looked at in awe–he can understand a lot of things now a little clearer, even if he’s still viewing the world through the same shards of broken glass.

You might be awake, but Kevin doesn’t try to check–instead he merely lets out a soft sigh and snuggles back against your body, face pressed to your glowing chest and hoping to enjoy the intimacy for as many seconds, minutes,  _hours_  more that you care to give him. Maybe he’ll even be able to sleep a while longer–

maybe he’ll even be able to dream again. 


	23. Cecil: Spanking [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: I would like a reader insert where Cecil spanks me for doing something naughty. Female reader pls.

The sound of a slap echoes into the air of the bedroom. It is a sharp noise, loud, commanding almost its own level of attention as the skin-on-skin contact fills your ears as much as the following pain fills your mind. 

But it falls away quickly, as the motion and power in the motion balanced precariously on the lines of ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ leaving you wanting it all over again barely a breath after that careful hand finds contact with the curve of your ass.

“Ce-Cecil-” you try to shift your head around, if only to so much as glance into the eyes of the man holding you over his lap, but the grip of his other hand over your jaw is firm–not painful in any way, just firm, making sure to keep your face still.

“Now now,” the voice coos above you, the dulcet tones only vaguely hiding the genuine amusement and excitement the situation is filling the owner with. “Naughty little assistants don’t get to _just do_ what they want.”

You feel the shift of his body as he raises his open palm up, then pulls it down over your ass. The pain is sharp and sudden and like a burst of electricity across your lower body, though it seems to do nothing but travel between your legs. The power in Cecil’s voice, the strength in his otherwise gentle hold, the raw  _control_  in his words–they all do nothing but make you want him, want him in the same way you wanted him when he caught you in the recording room earlier that day.

“But,” you gasp, feeling gentle tears well up in the corners of your eyes, tears only from the near-perfect waterfall of emotions and pleasures filling your body. “But I want-”

Another slap, carefully aimed and perfectly timed, stung against your skin. It cut off your words immediately, leaving you only to gasp and wiggle your body near-instinctively over Cecil’s warm lap instead. It’s painful and overwhelming and just so damn  _perfect_. Every little slap seems to make you shake, make you grind yourself forward in hopeless search for pressure, if only a little release from the heat building between your legs.

“I thought you’d already satisfied yourself, darling!” There’s no missing the thin layer of danger hanging off Cecil’s words, and it only serves to excite you more. “I walk into the recording studio to find you already such a mess in my own chair and, even now, you still want more? So needy, darling–” Another slap, another moan, another careful touch of Cecil’s fingers to rub the pain over the curve of your ass. “–and so very  _naughty_.”


	24. Cecil: Awed by Eldritch!Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Cecil thinking him one of the more powerful things in night Vale and viewing his mate as his precious and fragil little human. Only to be injured and end up on the ground with his now v big/powerful and Eldritch looking mate standing over him letting out a shriek, defending him. Once the issue is handled Cecil is staring wide eyed at his mate whos apparently v powerful themself and hes so caught off guard. Mostly because they didnt even know what they were, just responding based on high emotions

Cecil can barely catch his breath by the time you fall over him, hands on his shoulders and eyes trying desperately to catch every scuff, bruise and scrape on his skin. You hardly notice the look of awe sitting plainly on the man’s face.

“Are you hurt?” The words tumblr from your lips in a desperate, fear-fueled ferver. “Broken bones? Scrapes? Did they do anything under your glamor?”

You coddled him like a mother hen, only stopping when Cecil himself reaches up both of his hands (mildly shaking) and gently grabs your shoulders–holding you still and finally meeting his eyes, his face, his expression of confusion and barely-muted wonder.

“You were–” he starts, but fails to follow through. “You…are–”

“Not human?” You finish for him, looking sheepish, not able to meet his eyes for long. “I uh–just figured that out myself.” You’re not quite sure what to say to the situation. “I just…wanted to keep you safe–I just–I got so scared for you!”

But Cecil doesn’t respond with anything other than excitement. 

“That is-,” He says, stressing the word before tugging you against him in an almost bone-crushing hug. “Just–I–that’s so amazing!” 

In more ways than one, amazing, leaving Cecil almost buzzing with what he saw of you. The shadows, the tendrils–the  _sharp teeth_ –it was unlike he’d ever seen and it was just  _amazing_.


	25. Kevin: Comforted by you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Could we get something sweet like reader comforting Kevin or vice versa. (Your smut is A+ but I really love your sfw stuff)

There are some days where it’s just  _too much_  for Kevin. These days are rare, you can probably even count them on one hand, but they happen enough that you understand what to do to help.

Maybe it’s the pain that gets to be too much, the constant ache in Kevin’s scars–remnants of StrexCorp’s physical re-education–that suck away what energy he has for the day. Maybe it’s simply just the fact that he’s exhausted; he uses his voice every single day of the year, talking on the radio, talking to others, just  _talking_ without an end or a break to the words the flow from his lips.

Maybe it’s a little bit of everything.

Either way, there are some days that it’s all just too much for him to bare, so he simply doesn’t. Days where Kevin won’t say a word, only speaking in vague gestures and through what little you can read of his eyes. He doesn’t even bother to attend to the station, instead just taking the day off, often leaving one of his interns to report the news–and if you hadn’t noticed up until then, that’s the one sign that Kevin is truly, completely exhausted. It’s going to be one of  _those_  days.

He’s not touch-averse normally, and not even on the days he can’t bring himself to speak. It makes it easier to comfort him, to be close to him if only so you can better understand his silent words and gestures, though he usually doesn’t ask for anything himself. 

Food, water–sometimes the only energy Kevin has is simply spent on laying on the bed and contemplating his innermost thoughts. You don’t blame him for this, you don’t think less of him for this–it’s simply a bad day and you do your best to help him through it.

Today, you lay beside him in bed. It’s a Saturday at least, one that Kevin doesn’t normally work (or at least, you have been  _trying_  to get him to take weekends off). He’s silent, eyes closed and arms wrapped around your body, his face tucked into the curve of your throat.

His breathing is even, but you can still feel the tension in his body, the stiffness of his muscles beneath the scar-covered skin of his back, his chest, his arms.

Your fingers stroke gently over his skin in the same rhythm as his breathing. 

Eventually, he’ll fall asleep.


	26. Kevin: Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Kevin has nice big sharp chompers in his mouth and lots of small inferior teeth in Mason jars

“All of these teeth I have collected are lovely!” Kevin almost shouts, his arms open wide as if to help you truly appreciate the shelves of teeth, many of them in jars and in a wide assortment of shape, sizes and assumedly species. “There’s something simply wonderful about teeth, you know? I mean, they are the building blocks for how we can have such  _happy_  smiles!”

The man lowers his arms and ponders to himself after a moment, bring his hand up to tap absently at his chin. 

He turns around to face you.

“But I have to say,” Kevin’s voice drops, dangerous and low. “I think  _my_  teeth are the best ones of all.”

He emphasizes this by pulling his lips back, a smile wide and open and flashing bright, inhumanely sharp teeth, as if they were the kind to sit in the maw of a predator. 

The smile softens, but only slightly, only enough for the man to continue speaking with his voice all the same tone of cold, excited danger.

“You know, they’re so sharp and wonderful that I can’t help myself with the thoughts of what it would be like to sink them into something soft. Fleshy.  _Maybe even a throat or two._ ”

And he pauses again, as if an idea has suddenly crossed his mind. Hollow eyes look to you in a moment of manic, almost overwhelming excitement.

“Let me know the next time someone bothers you, dearest,” The man says, practically a purr before you catch the slightest flick of his tongue passing over the knife-like points of his teeth. “I mean, I know you will regardless but…just a little  _reminder_  is all. I have a new idea for how to… _talk_  to them about their behavior.”


	27. Cecil: Comforting you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Hey there! Could you write something where Cecil comforts his mate through an anxiety attack? Maybe one caused by them still trying to adjust to the new town, or their first time experiencing a shared town nightmare? I’m absolutely in love with your writing 💜💜

You barely have the time to collect your thoughts when there are suddenly limbs around your body, holding you tight. At least two of the limbs are arms, you’re quite sure, while the rest are certainly not. 

It was a scream that followed you out of your night terror like a wolf, snapping at your heels and leaving you breathless and horrified. There are still flashes, after-images burned into the back of your eyelids of what you had seen but moments before. They cling to you, those visions, and leave you even more scared that what you saw might have even been real.

You don’t have any time to truly contemplate anything, however, as Cecil’s arms and things-that-are-not-arms wrap securely around your body, his voice already such a soft coo in your ear.

“It’s alright,” he says, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, one of his hands combing through your hair. “It was just a dream, darling. Just a municipally-mandated dream, they happen sometimes–nothing about it was real-” Especially since nothing in life is truly real. “-I had it too, but nothing is here, nothing’s going to hurt you.”

He continues to whisper and purr soft things into your ear, merely letting your body do what bodies need to do in times of stress. He lets you cry softly against his bare chest, let your hands cling to him, let your mind filter through all the things you saw and the things that still linger in your mind.

It’s always like this with new residents, an unfortunate fact that almost always takes them by surprise. Cecil is wholly against putting the minds of newcomers into the database for mandated night-terrors, but that is an issue for another time–making sure that you are calmed is the priority of his thoughts.

You let out a sob.

“I saw–I saw the shadows and-”

“Wolves?”

You look up from Cecil’s chest, nodding quickly.

“Y-yeah. Lots of them. Chasing me.”

Cecil lets out a sigh, his indignation not at all directed at you. He presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms still tight around your body as a warm, firm and physical anchor in the plane of reality. Shadowy tendrils of not-really-arms keep a gentle, but strong hold on your arms, your legs, acting as anchors all the same to ground your mind and fears.

“I’d never let them hurt you,” Cecil whispers, face nuzzling into your hair. “When you have that dream again, just shout for me okay? I’ll be right there with you.”

Though you’re a bit fargone to really understand your partner’s words, you find yourself nodding regardless. It’s still a gentle promise, a comforting one, something that you can hold to your chest as your body slowly allows for sleep to fill your mind once more.

Cecil holds you all the while, letting you fall asleep against his chest and safely wrapped in several strong, warm limbs–his voice is the last thing you hear before everything falls back into darkness, this time surrounded by only comfort.


	28. Kevin: Broken singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: I crave some singing-related Kevin angst pls I beg of you
> 
> Sirens are an eldritch species of my own creation. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out the tag for them on my [WTNV tumblr blog here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/tagged/siren/chrono)

You’ve known that Kevin is a siren for a long time. It’s not information that he’s ever told you directly, but something you’ve picked up in bits and pieces over time–from working with him in Desert Bluffs to moving into the desert otherworld, you’ve been able to piece things together. You’ve even been able to extrapolate information from others, people with more knowledgeable about sirens than old, barely-readable texts.

Cecil, the radio host for Night Vale and a man you’ve spoken to on a fairly regular occasion, was one such source of information. He’s a siren, the same sort as Kevin. Though he doesn’t much care for his counterpart, he does respect your want of information into your mate.

“He’s…not alright,” Cecil once said, explained it on a day when you didn’t even have questions to ask. “You can’t see them all. The scars. They’re deep and painful and I can’t begin to comprehend what StrexCorp did to make them on his body. I….I know you can’t see them, not with your eyes, but they’re there.” Cecil sounded so soft and contemplative in his words. “He’s….a very broken siren.”

His words had left you wondering in their meaning, what sorts of things that Cecil could see as a fellow siren that you, a human, couldn’t. You wonder what painful marks lay on Kevin’s unglamoured form, if there would ever be a time that you would be allowed to see it yourself. 

Could Kevin even show you? Would he ever  _want_  to?

it’s not your job to think about questions like that. You love Kevin dearly, and all you want is him to be happy, in whatever form he wants you to see of him.

Still.

Kevin…sings to you sometimes. It’s hard to describe it properly, especially knowing how deeply connected the act is to his people, the siren race itself. You know how important their voice is to them, how powerful it can be and how much it can entrance those who are not sirens.

You also know that it’s an intimate thing, to sing to one another. Cecil explained it to you once, how a siren will court and bond with a mate through the sound of their Voice, capitalized in importance and in power. 

“It’s an intimate aspect of their very person,” Cecil had said, trying to explain something so  _normal_  to him but so entirely alien to you. “It’s like…being able to touch someone, being able to hug the people you love and to hold them close. For a siren to lose their Voice….it’s…it’s a pain I never would wish on my worst of enemies.”

Kevin is broken, at least in the sense that StrexCorp was the entity that did it. It hurt him, hurt him in ways you can see and ways still that you can’t. 

But sometimes you notice even the things you can’t see. You notice the pain and the hurt and the unfixable torture that hangs in Kevin’s voice and being.

He sings to you sometimes, in that way you can’t really understand.

He sings at night, when the sky is dark and he thinks that you’re asleep. He sings with a broken voice that sounds  _wrong_  and distorted. It sounds no different from his normal, speaking voice and yet…..

and yet…

It sounds wrong. It sounds  _painful_  even to hear. He sings little songs in a language you can’t understand and tunes you can barely follow, as if your mind itself was never equipped to handle their tone and timbre. Even so it sounds…hurt, shattered, as if you tried to look into a broken mirror, to make out shapes and colors that only vaguely looked like a reflection.

Kevin cries sometimes when he sings, one hand gently placed on your head, stroking fingers through your hair. The sound makes you hurt, makes your heart ache in ways you don’t know how to fix. When you shift, act as if you’re falling out of the arms of sleep Kevin always quiets himself and acts as if he’s simply been awake and pondering over thoughts or even a nightmare.

“I’m alright, dearest,” he’s said to you, each and every time. “Go back to sleep.”

And every time you do, slowly drifting off into darkness with Kevin’s voice, broken, trying, wanting to lull you in a way sirens only do for those they love. 

He’s broken, but Kevin still tries to sing to you.


	29. Kevin: w/ a mortician!Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Just think of this... Kevin but with a mortician s/o, like Kevin starts talking about something and their like 'actually this is what happens, it's because of this' and it's like, blood??? Not a bother, but please don't put it near the death certificates or clean sheet they just ironed them. Teeth??? practically sew people's mouths shut for a living that don't bother them.

“Look!” The man all but shouts, hands full with a glass jar that he abruptly tries to shove into your face. “I collected enough for a new jar! Aren’t they just  _lovely_?”

You try not to snap at Kevin for what is simply his excitement, especially since he hasn’t quite caught on to the whole idea of ‘personal space’ and ‘asking’ when it comes to your work schedule. The workload always varies, depending on who comes in, if there’s been a recent, corporate-sponsored epidemic, those sorts of things. 

It’s not a fancy job being a StrexCorp mortician, but it’s not something you had the freedom to choose–your talents matched what was needed, and that’s all there was to your freedom of career. There was a surprising amount of freedom in it at least, so you can often pretend that it’s good to be busy.

And gods, are you busy.

Kevin doesn’t seem to realize this fact, but at least he steps into your office when you’re just doing paperwork. It’s grueling, confusing, horrible paperwork, but at least it something you can sit down for, even if you don’t want to think about all the detail you’re having to right about the ‘unfortunate’ deaths of so many people.

You’ve become numb to it, in a way, to the gore and the blood and the….teeth. Oh, does Kevin love teeth.

You gently glance at the jar held in front of your face, eyes shifting over the mound of off-white, pebble-like shapes. Some of them are still bloodied and some still are stained; nothing you haven’t seen before, and the only thing you find annoying is simply just having the jar shoved in front of your face.

“Kevin,” you say, tone measured. “They look great–I really, really hope you didn’t take any from the basement.”

There are a  _lot_  of bodies in the basement.

Kevin scoffs, almost acting offended at the accusation by pulling the jar back to his chest and a hand over his mouth.

“I wouldn’t do a thing like that!” He says, a smile on his lips despite his fake theatrics. “Though it would make such a wonderful, sizable addition to my collection….no, I did not. I prefer to collect them when they are less….dead.”

Many months ago, Kevin’s cold tone would have scared you, the unspoken threat barely veiled by a soft smile and equally soft tone of voice. Instead it’s…endearing, in a way,  if only because you know that he has never and will never be a danger to you.

Others? Not so much. 

Mostly people who deserve it; StrexCorp is a toxic company with toxic people.

Kevin leans forward, pressing his hips to your desk, the jar securely in his hands. They are bloodstained, as well as the sleeves of his shirt.

“Please don’t get blood on the paperwork,” You say, surprisingly gentle. “I really don’t want to have to fill these out again.”

Kevin doesn’t say anything but he does at least heed the warning, taking a step back as his empty eyes still look over the way your hands scrawl over the paper, crisp and clean with heavy fonts and words and open diagrams to assuage a cause of death.

“…is it busy today?” The man finally asks. 

“Yes.” 

The answer is simple, but not cold or harsh–every single day seems to be too busy, you barely able to keep a handle on the constant stream of bodies to examine and document.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You glance up at Kevin, gaze meeting those dark, hollow eyes–eyes that have long-since stopped bothering you in their endless black void. Then, in a breath, you gesture with a sharp point towards an empty chair beside you.

“Take a seat, I’m gonna go crazy if I keep talking to myself–and tell me more about those uh, teeth.”

You watch Kevin’s face light up as he does so quickly, leaving slight, but obvious smears of red on the chair as he tugs it over to you (marks you can clean up later) and starts babbling on about things you can only half-listen to, but hearing his voice does make you smile.


	30. StrexCorp: Soulmarks [Soulmate AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Ok but think hear me out, strexcorp needs workers but as we all know, a worker that isn't one hundred and ten percent committed to their job, doesn't work as hard as they could, so they decided soulmarks are more of a hindrance than a help, so they... forcibly remove them, a large scar where once bright bold colours were supposed to be, another reminder of the fact that they're broken.

Every worker needs to be  _perfect_.

That’s the StrexCorp way.

From morning to night, Tuesday to Sunday (because Monday simply doesn’t exist), every happy, smiling worker within the StrexCorp family needs to be absolutely, entirely,  _positively_  perfect in every way. There is no greater goal in life, no larger aspiration than to be the best person one can be–and how can one achieve such a wondrous thing?

By working!

Working hard of course; very,  _very_  hard.

So hard. 

Lots of things can distract people from working hard, but some of those things are unfortunate necessities of the human body–hunger, thirst, sleep, intimacy, love–those are all useless things that keep a worker from being able to meet their greatest potential. Though StrexCorp is tirelessly at work at trying to snip those things out with all sorts of advancements in technology, there are some that it has managed to get rid of with ease!

Soulmarks are such silly things, a thing can be removed with a rather  _simple_  procedure and rid the owner of all those nasty things that come with them. 

Who needs to care about a soulmate when one works for StrexCorp? To achieve the highest kind of person you can be, one must devote themselves wholly to the company and work  _hard_! If you’re concerned with childish things like  _soulmates_  and  _love,_ then you can’t focus on your work and productivity!

So please, apply today to get that soulmark removed–help yourself be the best  _you_  that you can be! Free yourself from those distractful emotions and bonds to those around you!

But really, apply now. 

Get it removed

_Or we’ll do it for you._


	31. Station Management: Crush on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: lmao what if station management had a crush on the reader?

It starts with a note. It’s so small that you almost miss it, sitting there on the ground, just outside of the Station Management office. Though one might easily assume that’s where the note had come from, you are thrown off by the fact that the note is plain. Just a simple white envelope–no blood, not even the aura of chaos and misery that usually surrounds the messages that come from beneath the door to the office. 

You peer to the glass, the frosted surface showing you no telltale signs that would help answer your question. Nevertheless you reach down and pluck the envelope from the ground, gently turning it over in your hand-

-to find your name written on the front. It’s in neat, distinct font, too nice to be handwritten but too loose to be mechanical. The letters swirl distinctly on the paper, drawing your eyes in to the bright color of ruby red-

Ah, nope, there’s the blood. So it was written by Station Management, but why is it addressed to you? 

Fearing it might be a command of some sort, perhaps even one you’d need to relay quickly to Cecil, you quickly open the letter and pull out the small, folded paper within.

 _‘You look very nice today,’_ the letter reads, in the same soft, swirling font as the outside address.

You blink, glance towards the door, then back to the letter with the softest bubble of warmth in your chest

* * *

There’s another note the next day, just outside the office door with your name written on it. You open it up with curious amusement, finding yet another gentle message scrawled across the paper.

_‘Your voice sounds very nice. We like hearing it.’_

A familiar warmth fills your chest, a little more this time than the last at the kind, if alluring words on the page are anything to go by. You can’t help but smile at them, looking towards the door again, catching the quickest flash of a moving shadow behind the frosted glass.

* * *

Several weeks go by and so do several more notes, each one with a line or two of text, each one gentle and sweet, complimenting you on something or giving you an uplifting bit of advice. You’re not quite sure what to make of the notes or why they started arriving whenever you pass by Station Management’s door, but it at least leaves you often with a smile on your lips, and Cecil eagerly wanting to know who put it there.

You’ve taken to leaving your own notes as well. Folded up paper with messages in kind, pushed gently beneath the door. You write about some of the happenings of your day, the places you like around Night Vale and sometimes even the stresses of your life.

Notes left in kind begin to get longer, two sentences, then three, until finally the entire paper within the envelope is covered, sometimes with a language you can’t read or understand–no, literally you can’t comprehend it, it hurts your eyes to even glance at the letters as they exist in and out of your plane of reality.

* * *

It’s the end of a long day when you finally have a chance to visit Station Management’s door. Cecil has finally gone home, leaving you to take care of a few things before you too can go home and relax.

With many of the lights off, Station Management’s office glows a soft purple, shifting between the hues of magenta and blue as the seconds tick by. You’re not afraid of approaching the door–not anymore, really. You approach the door and glance down at your feet, finding a familiar shape of paper folded carefully with your name clearly written upon it

You unfold it slowly. The paper itself is mostly blank, taking on the multi-colored hue of the gentle lights glowing from behind the frosted glass door, and it holds only one single word upon it:

_‘Date?’_

Beside it, a little heart, small and crude and adorable.

You feel your lips pull a little into a smile at the sight of it. After a moment to ponder the question, you reach into your bag and pull out a pen (as you are one of few who can legally use writing implements) and, just below the word, you write an answer, fold it back up and carefully push it underneath the door.

_‘Where and when?'_


	32. Cecil: Comforting you while ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Could I be a little self indulgent and request a Cecil comfort fic with a mate who is sick with the flu and has started shark week at the same time? (Because Mother Nature obviously hates me very much right now and my body is rebelling against me)

It sucks.

Everything sucks.

Everything really,  _really_ sucks.

It’s as if the universe itself had looked at you in particular and said, ‘You know what would be a great idea?’ and then proceed to hit you with not one, but two horrible experiences at the same time. Not only are you with a fever, stuffy nose, sore throat and general feelings of malaise, but you’re also almost doubled-over with a deep, painful ache in your abdomen and…god, you never even thought it was possible to be stricken with both the flu AND menstruation at the same time. What are even the odds of that happening at the same time?

They couldn’t have been high, but yet here you are, in bed with a blanket curled around you, not sure whether you should be bemoaning the ache of the flu or that of your womb, feeling as if it’s trying to launch itself out of your body in an angry huff that you didn’t get pregnant. The nerve of you, apparently, or at least you think that’s what your womb might say if it had the capacity to speak.

Medicine can only do so much, though what it can’t seem to do is just knock you out cold and let you sleep through the misery instead. No, that would be too kind a mercy, so instead you’re simply laying there and playing with your phone in the bedroom.

The sound of an opening door pulls your attention away from the bright screen, but only momentarily, looking over to quickly take note of Cecil’s entrance. His hands are full; in one is a glass of clear liquid, and in the other is a bowl and spoon within that.

“Made you some soup,” he says softly, the concern as obvious in his voice as in his eyes. “You haven’t eaten for a while and I thought it might help a little bit.”

You watch as he sets the items down on a TV tray, folded out beside where you’re laying in the bed. Though you eye them up for a few moments, your stomach doesn’t quite agree with your partners assumptions and instead leads to much the opposite effect.

Cecil doesn’t seem bothered that you don’t reach for neither the bowl nor the glass. He instead steps around the bed, gently sitting on the opposite side.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

You think for barely a second before you speak.

“Could you just…like… _take_  my uterus for me?”

Cecil stares at you for a moment, then quirks a brow in amusement.

“Unfortunately that would lead to a lot of blood loss, I’m not exactly a trained doctor,” he says, then pauses as a thought flickers through his mind. “Though, if you fill out the proper forms at the City Hall, then you could-”

“I’m just kidding, Ceece,”

The man chuckles as you flash a tired smile at him, the two of you quickly cuddling closer to one another, one of Cecil’s arms laying carefully over your body as you press close to him and his delicious warmth. With a chill that seems to be constant even down to your bones, it’s especially nice to lay beside him, to soak up every ounce of body heat he’s willing to give.

The two of you lay in silence for only a few moments.

“Did the medicine finally kick in?”

“A little,” you say, already starting to nod off a little. He’s just so  _warm_  and so  _comfortable_  against you. “I’ll probably have to take more later.”

Cecil nods, his chin pressing softly over the top of your head so you can nuzzle against his throat. There’s a gentle tickle against your skin, unseen tendrils caressing against your cheeks.

After another minute, Cecil says, “You should try and sleep for a little bit. I can wake you up later to take more painkillers, alright?”

It’s nice that he understands it–not inherently the flu or the pangs of misery from your lower body, but the idea of pain in general; who would think that at least half of Night Vale can’t feel pain at all? It sure makes things like Tylenol and Ibuprofen harder to find at the Ralphs.

You’re not quite sure what’s a stronger influence, Cecil’s voice or his warmth, but it has the same effect regardless. Your eyelids droop and your focus begins to waver, softening away until darkness, like the man’s arms and love and comfort, surrounds you completely.


	33. Kevin: Biting [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: we all talk about kevin with a 'thing for teeth' and biting and such. and how he'd looove to take a bite out of his little assistant, but doesn't cuz that'd hurt her~ but hear me out. what if ms. assistant has a biting kink~? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) maybe her secret is revealed one night when her and kev are getting naughty. and maybe right when things were getting nice and good reader got lost in the pleasure and moaned out "Ohh Kevin bite me please~" right against his ear. she's embarrassed but he like ;)

You’re not quite sure at what point you lost control of your mouth. 

Maybe it was somewhere between the heavy petting of Kevin’s hands across your naked body and the point when he eagerly manhandled you down onto the bed. 

Maybe still it was when he had his mouth on you, tongue doing such wonderful things that it made your thoughts whirl like a storm, your voice a series of needy staccato shouts of his name on your lips.

Maybe it could have been a lot of things, leading up to where you are now, pleasantly laying within what feels like a nest of blankets and pillows. You can only see the shape of Kevin’s body above you, hovering, his hands on either side of your head as he keeps a hard, even pace of thrusting between your thighs. Your legs are curled around him, keeping his body close–though you hardly need to do so. He moves as if he can’t be away from you, as if he can’t stand not to have his body somehow against your own–his eyes, his lips, they are always lavishing some stretch of skin in attention.

Oh, that attention of his.

It’s hard for you to focus on very much when Kevin is so desperate in his search for pleasure. He drives into you with such passion and force and care, you can barely hope to have enough of a handle on your own name. Words and sentences are another matter completely. 

Though despite it all, you are coherent enough through the pleasure to feel the sharp, striking sensation of Kevin’s teeth all but dragging against your skin. No, no not dragging, just skimming, the edges barely pressed against the sensitive expanse of your upper-chest as it leads up to your throat.

A moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Kevin pauses, mouth gently open against the bottom of your throat–you can feel his eyes on you, his attention as heavy as lead and as hot as a fire.

“Something the matter?” The man finally teases, never once breaking the solid pace of his hips against yours. Damnable man. Beautiful man.

His tone is dangerous and smooth.

Your lips clamp shut rather than anything else, feeling flushed by the sound of his barely-muffled giggle.

“You’re keeping a secret from me~!” Kevin teases again, pressing his mouth to your throat again and pressing his teeth to your skin–

Another moan escapes you, feeling those sharp, fang-like teeth nip ever so slightly into your flesh. You imagine him pressing them further, harder over you, sinking into soft skin and leaving deeper, more permanent marks than blooming bruises across your shoulders.

“ _O-Oh, Kevin,_ ” your voice comes out barely louder than a squeak. “ _Bite me bite me ple-ease_.”

Your mate lets out a low moan in response, the appreciation deep and obvious for the sounds of your words in his ear. Kevin doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he likes it, pulling his face back far enough so that you can see it, shadowed somewhat from the dim lights–but it’s the subtle gleam of his wide, sharp smile that forces you to shiver in raw  _delight_.

Like an animal, his eyes of obsidian and his smile filled with sharp points and razor edges, Kevin looks almost manic.

“I can’t ignore such a lovely plea,” he finally says, leaning down to one of your shoulders. His lips press to your skin almost daintily, as if to mark the spot. “I’ve always wanted to leave a deeper mark on you, dearest.”

There’s no time to respond, not even a whisper, before you feel the sharp pain of those very teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder. It mixes in with a sudden pleasure of orgasm as the two of you are tossed over the edge in your hasty, desperate need. Pleasure and pain, a beautiful mix, fills up every inch of your body as nothing but Kevin’s name leaves your parted lips.

It feels as if it lasts forever, Kevin’s mouth secure over your shoulder, holding you down, biting firm until every last drop, every little wave of pleasure has left your body.


	34. Cecil: Overstimulation [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Overstimulation with cecil in his true form 💕💕💕
> 
> Sirens are an eldritch species of my own creation. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out the tag for them on my [WTNV tumblr blog here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/tagged/siren/chrono)

You’re not sure what came first: Cecil’s physical sensitivity to touch, or his shyness in his true, non-human form. One could certainly have led to the other of course, but you’re not entirely which one started it all, keeping Cecil’s day-to-day appearance albeit quite a bit quirky in his fashion choices but all-too-human nonetheless.

Still, it didn’t stop him from loving you, trusting you and, eventually, letting you into his life in such a deep and intimate way. It doesn’t stop him from showing you who he is, beyond the illusion of humanity that covers up what might possibly be the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

His entire body lay beneath you, human only in the vaguest shape. Two arms, two legs and a bountiful number of tendrils surround you both–they’re all as black as night, but covered in a background of clouds and star-like freckles that leave him looking as if a living piece of the night sky. Cecil’s eyes, at least in the moments he opens them up enough, look like smooth gemstones, a bright amethyst against stark darkness.

“Please,” the man moans, his body practically buzzing beneath you. “Please–ah–! Please touch–…touch me more.”

Cecil is so very, very sensitive.

You’re sitting astride his hips (or at least what you assume are his hips), hands pressed down against the flat of his chest and simply smoothing against ink-dark skin. You feel a buzzing against your palms, the white noise that comes after the numbness of limbs, when the blood rushes back and leaves the sensation of small pinpricks against skin.

“I am touching you,” is what you say to him, lips quirked in a soft, innocent smile.

Cecil moans and tries to arch his body, press his hips up, but your weight is just enough to still his movements. You’re sure he could move you ten times over, but the mere fact that he doesn’t, that Cecil restrains himself purely against your touch, is arousing all in it’s own.

Your fingertips trace along the front of his body, finding little details, dips and curves that aren’t entirely obvious by looking; it’s as if his body is absorbing light, like a black hole, leaving no definition beyond what you can gather from the speckles or soft, floating clouds across his skin. Cecil shivers with every little touch, however small, his hands obediently laying at his sides.

Cecil doesn’t answer with little more than a muffled whine. You’re not quite sure if it’s because he’s gnawing on his lower lip, or if he’s otherwise chosen to remove his mouth completely from his shadowy body, the area devoid of any indication that there ever was a mouth on him to begin with.

You’re still getting used to the fact that he’s a shapeshifter.

Regardless, you can’t help but giggle.

“You’re so sensitive, Ceece.”

Hips grind gently down upon him, hands skimming across every inch of him that you can reach. Cecil can only whine, body shaking and eyes shut tight while tendrils of shadow that spill from his back merely shake and squirm around the two of you.

“Can I make you cum just from touching you?” The question finally spills from your lips, curiosity mixed in equal part to arousal and lust. “Maybe if I kiss you all over too.”

It’s as if the man’s entire body is an erogenous zone, easily stimulated with nothing more than a brush of your fingertips. You wonder if this is normal to him. You wonder, even more deeply, if others of his kind are like this.

Such lovely curiosities to ponder on.

Cecil’s mouth is back again, open and panting and straining for words when it’s obvious he has so few to offer, a delicious and stark difference from the man who could speak golden, intoxicating rhythm on the radio.

“So much–” he sobs, and the tendrils of darkness thrash around you, close enough that you sometimes feel them brush against your arms and shoulders and back. “Ffff-uck, so much so much so much, please. I need. Need-”

He can’t even finish the half-coherent sentence when you decide to interrupt his thoughts with a kiss, your head leaning down and lips pressing to where you assume a collarbone might lay on a body of his relative shape.

You open your mouth and press your tongue against him, tasting cold, buzzing, endless galaxies.

And then, in the span of a heartbeat, you feel him sob and shake against you as orgasm–or what you assume is orgasm to him in this beautiful, wonderful form of his–tosses him over the edge of pleasure.

It’s a litany of ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ painted over his face, a flutter of eyelids and a symphony of words you can barely understand. He cries and sobs and whines and whimpers, all while you feel tendrils of buzzing shadow cling desperately to your arms and waist, as if he needs to hold onto you for dear sweet life, lest the pleasure sweep him away entirely.

“Oh, oh OH, darling yes please oh gods above-!”

Cecil spasms, once, again, his very form shifting in shape and mass and weight beneath your body, but never once telling you to stop.

You know he won’t.

He wants it all, until his mind is nothing but a haze and his body is listless and exhausted. He wants every touch and every kiss–he clings to you desperately, keeping you close even as the orgasm dies down to overstimulation and leaving the equivalent of nerve-endings unsure what to do with all the sensory input wracking through Cecil’s body.

You lift your face just enough to nuzzle into his throat, pressing kisses all the way up, until you get to his lips and have the moment to stare deeply into his sweet, bright eyes; they seem to glow in the darkness of the bedroom.

“I’m not done with you yet, Cecil,” The name sounds like warmth and love on your lips. “I’ll never be done with you if you keep looking so beautiful.”

Lips meet in a gentle kiss, a stark difference from the way his body moves, undulates and shifts against your hands. A moment of peace in the chaos of a storm.

You feel Cecil smile against your mouth, letting out not words, but a purr in sweet, satisfied response.


	35. StrexCorp: Scents [Omegaverse]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: i keep thinking about omegaverse and strexcorp bc like... making everyone into gammas? horrifying! effective! but i got to thinking about like what if instead strexcorp used the pheromone thing to manipulate their employees? do a good job at work and get something with the smell of your favored type on it, bc i imagine they’d regulate the air in their buildings to block out scents.

There is no such thing as a scent in a StrexCorp-owned building. The air is clean and clinical, scrubbed of anything beyond what is absolutely needed for someone to exist–oxygen, nitrogen, other sorts of gasses and some additive things for productivity when the company deigns it time to test on some group of poor, unfortunate souls.

Beyond that, there is no such thing as a smell to be found on the air. No wafting scent of lavender, no comforting smell of cinnamon, not even the softest whiff of crisp linen. StrexCorp controls it all, like everything else in the lives of their employees. To smell something warm and comforting is, instead, merely a reward for a job well done. It’s on the end of a stick, held out for them to catch, desperate for any thread of comfort in a life controlled literally down to the very air they breathe in any building in Desert Bluffs.

But today, you’ve done good. You don’t have enough time or energy in the world to think of all the negatives in the problem when the positive is clear: you have done good, your week of productivity has been in the green and  _they_  are so proud of you.

So. Proud. Of you.

When you come home, you find the air itself so warm and welcoming–the pheromones have settled into the space easily, filling your living area with thoughts of  _home_  and  _love_  and  _comfort_. You settle on the couch and drink it in with a giant, slow breath in, let the very scent swirl with your thoughts. You can feel it pulling at your stress, pulling it back down into the back of your mind, along with any  _treasonous thoughts_  that you’ve been battling for days.

Your home will stay like this for a week. An entire week of this, smelling this wonderful smell and basking in its comfort. If you manage to impress your supervisors again and keep your numbers high then maybe, just maybe, they’ll reward you with such a gift again.

So you sit there, still dressed in the StrexCorp-approved uniform, 

and just breathe it all in.


	36. Cecil: Tentacles [NSFW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: please write cecil being a top to both himself and a dmab reader please

“It’s alright,” Cecil coos, his arms wrapped around your shoulders. “Just relax, we’ll take it slow, I promise…”

You know he’s saying it more for his sake than your own, nuzzling his cheek against yours. He is so warm though his body is shaking, shivering in delightful layers of pleasure–both of you can feel the tickle of tendrils as they brush against your hips, pouring from the small of Cecil’s back.

Your bodies are so close. You can feel him against you, warm and soft and gods above, you’re already on the edge with how he needily grinds his hips and cock against your own. It has your nerves feeling aflame and your belly heavy with a lovely pressure–it’s amazing you haven’t lost coherency yet.

“I could say the same thing to you, Ceece,” You say gently, reaching a hand up to your partners face and feeling a searing heat against your palm on his cheek. “You’re looking a little nervous–is this going to be okay?”

Another brush of shadow against your hip, winding around the back of your thigh and tickling, carefully, between your legs.

“I-I’ll be a-…alright,” Cecil stammers, feeling it himself. “I mean, I don’t  _always_  have to control them. Sometimes they uh…have a mind of their own?”

You’re not sure what’s more beautiful, his eyes or his voice, all soft and nervous that you can practically feel the butterflies in his stomach. The tip of a tendril presses against the skin of your inner thigh, wet by some means beyond your understanding.

Cecil squeaks. He shifts against you at what you assume is the same wet touch of a sly tentacle between his thighs, unsure whether he wants to press against your hips or back upon it’s teasing girth.

“Have you done this before?”

You feel it press closer, easing the tip against tight muscles with a now-warm slickness. You press your face against Cecil’s shoulder as he does the same to you, both of your mouths open and panting as–

slowly–

both of you feel the tendril ease itself inside.

You let out a soft little sob as Cecil’s grip tightens around you, your bodies pressed flush and hot and needy.

“Yes,” The other man says, tone tense and careful, as if he’s trying to keep it level despite the fact he’s getting opened up so  _perfectly_ as you are. “I’ve done it…before…to myself…I–I know how it f-fe-feels  _ohgodyesitsgood_.”

His voice is a nice distraction a gentle pull from thinking too hard about yourself, feeling a thick heat press deeper into your body, gentle but firm as your muscles stretch to accommodate it. You feel Cecil’s hips twitch, start grinding against your own again, feel his arms tight around your shoulders in the same way your arms are around his chest.

There’s no way that Cecil is controlling them, not now, not like this. He’s at their mercy as much as you are, breath hot and names moaned from two sets of parted lips. The tendril squirms within your body, pressing against your walls, as if seeking out the motions and spots that pull the fullest moans from your lips.

It doesn’t take very long for them to find it.

“Cecil-” the name falls from your lips with near-reverence. “Oh god–gods, Cecil I-”

You don’t get the chance to finish. All you can do is cling to him, needily, desperately as you feel the tendril start fucking you and others gently, lovingly wrap around both of your bodies and keeping them close.


	37. Kevin: Leaving kiss marks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: I miss Kevin :( I wanna give him soft smooches everywhere on his face and then giggle when I pull away and see I've left kiss marks all over him. I wonder what station management would say if I didn't tell him about the kisses before he went into work? Or would everyone be too scared to tell him and he just walks around like that until catches his reflection in the men's bathroom mirror? Would he be upset with me or think it's funny and keep them on his face until he got home?

When Kevin went into work, he didn’t consider a single thing amiss. If anything, he couldn’t find a single aspect of his day even slightly moved from it’s perfect place. The employees of the radio station were smiling, the day was bright (so bright, so very bright), and he couldn’t find a single thing to even dare to wipe off the wide grin on his lips. 

Perhaps it was the fact that the day was perfect, like any other day in Desert Bluffs. Perhaps still it was the fact that he could still feel your kiss goodbye to him, a lingering touch of love that he carried close against his chest for the hours the two of you were apart, even though he’d see you again once the shift was over.

No, he did not think a single thing was wrong with the day. The others of the station greeted him like normal, though there was a soft, extra tinge of  ~~fear~~ curiosity in their eyes that  _did_  leave Kevin wondering. Was he wearing something different? It isn’t as if he had changed up his wardrobe any–the same shirt and pants and shoes as he always wore, the mandated uniform of StrexCorp as crisp and clean as ever–well, what  _he_  considered crisp and clean. StrexCorp’s ideals were….a touch lower than his own, though Kevin knew that his personal expectations were nothing short of perfection of his own image.

To be the  _perfect_  version of himself, of course!

It wasn’t until he started to notice that people stared at him a little more. It was nothing serious of course, nothing that called for alarm, but Kevin couldn’t help but wonder why people kept looking at him with such an odd look on their face. It’s not an expression he ever saw on them before–confusion? No, not that. Surprise?

Maybe that was it.

His hair was styled and his person otherwise clean–he certainly remembered showering the night prior (showered quite a long time, if memory serves correctly, if only because you were in the shower with him).

Still he couldn’t think of  _anything_  that may have been wrong. 

it wasn’t until Kevin finally made his way to the restroom that he noticed it at last. While washing his hands, the man glanced up to the mirror and caught a flash of color on his cheeks. He thought it might be blood at first–not a rare sight on days like this one–but on further inspection he found it to be lipstick.

He blinked his cold, empty eyes and turned his face one way, then the other–sure enough, his face was in fact covered in lipstick-laced kiss marks. From one cheek to the other, down the curve of his jaw–they seemed to be all over his skin.

It took the man a few moments before his mind worked over what must have happened. A memory from earlier that morning, him waking not to an alarm, but a smothering of kisses over his face. He remembers feeling so warm and wrapping his arms around you, purring sweet promises into your skin and-

Well, that’s likely where the marks came from.

It explained why everyone had been looking at him oddly all day. Kevin looks his face over for a few moments more, debating if he wanted to clean them from his skin before ultimately deciding against it.

They were  _your_  marks, after all, and what sort of man would he be to carelessly wipe them away? Certainly not a good one, so he leaves them be–if anything, Kevin almost feels a bit emboldened by them, knowing fully-well how obvious his relationship with you looks with such marks lovingly placed upon his skin.

He leaves the restroom and completes the last hours of his shifts never once wiping them from his face, almost daring the others at the studio to make mention of them.

None of them do, of course, and it only leaves Kevin feeling warm and fuzzy inside, missing you all the more.

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles were written for requests made on my WTNV writing blog. If you would like to submit a request or check out my other related work, [go check it out here!](https://wtnvwritings.tumblr.com/)


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